


Two Bullets Deep

by Angelas



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Carl being his kewte self, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Language, Lori is cray, M/M, Shane is a butt, Slow Burn, Stereotypes, much feels, perpetually confused Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas/pseuds/Angelas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken marriage. The new custodian Rick cannot get his mind off of down at the station. And with Shane in the mix, it's all hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold in that

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, been dying to contribute to this fandom. So here goes.

**oOo**

“It’s your fault Carl’s like this.”

Rick brought a hand to his face, pinching down hard on the bridge of his nose.

“If you could just keep your voice down when you talk to me,” Lori pressed, “If you could just—”

“If I could just what, Lori? What else could I possibly do by myself to put things right? Disappear? Grow wings and fly off? What?”

Lori sighed, a tremble in her breath. She spun on her heel and crossed her arms with her back towards Rick. Her eyes had gone damp. Rick had seen it. He reached for her, to apologize and to maybe forget, but she immediately flinched a cold shoulder at him.

“Nothing, Rick,” she told him. “You can’t do anything, not anymore.”

Rick didn’t know what to say. Not when he could see Lori’s shoulders begin to shake like they always did right before she started sobbing.

It was dark out. Moon was high up. The argument had stretched for a good two solid hours into the nick of midnight, and all along Rick knew Carl was right behind the door of the bedroom the entire time.

“Lori, I—”

“I think you should leave for the night, Rick,” she clipped. “I’ll take Carl to school in the morning.”

“How will that solve anything?” Rick shot, approaching her. “Why don’t we just sit down and talk this out like two grown adults?”

“We’ve tried!” Lori shouted. She turned towards him, all anger and tears. “We’ve tried everything, Rick!”

Rick knew that once Lori started screaming, there was no calming her. The neighbors would listen in, think the worst of it, and call the cops. And the last thing Rick needed was Shane at his door in the middle of a Thursday night. Again.

He nodded. “Okay,” he said, grabbing his coat. “I’ll go.”

He could feel Lori’s eyes on his back, the tapping of her foot.

“You have fun with her, Rick,” Lori called after him. “Whoever the hell she is!”

It took a hell of a lot for Rick not to end up going right back into that room.

A lot.

Taking a steady breath, he snatched his keys, his coffee mug, and went straight out the door.

Last thing he heard before he felt the rain at his face was Carl’s sniffling coming from up the stairs.

**oOo**

Amazingly enough, the station seemed empty.

Strange, since Shane usually hung around till three in the morning doing a whole lot of nothing.

Pocketing his keys, Rick decided to count his blessings for the night and settle in for a while at his desk for some paperwork and a cup of steaming hot caffeine. His head hurt from all the screaming, and his eyes felt heavy from fatigue. But he decided he’d pulled through worse.

He went to his desk. Organized like always. The pencil he never used sat calm at the corner of it, along with a small 4x4 photograph of a 5-month old Carl. Drawers clean, clipboards neatly piled.

He liked it this way.

Alone in the dark with the woes of his failing marriage dulled numb in mind. 

Away from Lori’s screams and the drama that came with their nightly sleeping arrangements. He was either too close or too far from her. Too distant or too touchy. Rick couldn’t understand her anymore. He wished he could, really did. But to Lori, it almost seemed like if it were all a game she could always win.

He sunk into his chair, staring at the golden ring around his finger. Eighteen years of marriage, of complete devotion on his part, only to come right down to this: the imaginary blond woman in Lori’s head.

Ironic, too, since he was the one who’d forgiven her for her affair not two years back. Never told him who the guy was or how it happened, but he’d forgiven her, no less. Loved her through it. Like a real husband does.

Letting out a breath, Rick pulled off the ring, placing it neat under a pile of papers. He ran a hand through the black roots of his hair and sat up, un-capping the pen that hung always at the hem of his shirt pocket. He told himself he’d fill ten more reports before he found someplace to sleep.

After that, he’d go and make sure Carl was safe at school before running back home for a quick shower. Then he’d come right back, punch in, make himself a sandwich, grab Shane, and start his patrols down all ten avenues ‘till five.

Nothing could go wrong.

Assured, he wiped his eyes open, going straight to work.

**oOo**

Rain came down hard all through the night, the sleet of it hugging tight against the walls.

Rick had no clue how long he’d gone knocked out on his desk, pen still in hand. All he did know was that there was a man right in front of him now, demanding he get out of the way.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, dozed out. “Didn’t even know you were here.”

Rick stood quick, giving the man space enough to mop the floor underneath his desk. First thing he felt was the freezing rush of cold air snake straight into his skin. He hugged into himself, his vision still blurry from sleep. That’s when he noticed that the man who’d appeared out of nowhere wore nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of torn up jeans. Brown hair tussled this way and that, eyes low to the ground, and looking awfully pissed off, too.

“Aren’t you cold in that?” was all Rick could think to say. “Pretty cold in here.”

“No.”

Rick nodded, looking away. He thought maybe he’d said the wrong thing. Silence ensued, and it didn’t feel right just leaving it like that. He _was_ in the guy’s way of work, after all.

“Real sorry about that. Haven’t seen you around before. You new?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

The man stopped in his mopping to face Rick.

..And damn that was some face to have in the middle of nowhere Georgia.

White skin toiled rough on the edges with the seldom tattoo. Hair swept crazy on his head, looking like a cow had gone and licked it. Looked good, though. Someway. Rick could smell him from there, like earth and trees. He thought of the woods down at Greenvein Avenue, the cool rush of the wind from there. Deer and elk. Warm fires.

“What? Got a problem?”

Rick shook his head. “No—no. Tired, is all.”

“Actin’ like you ain’t ever seen a guy with a mop cleanin’ up after ya’ll shit before,” the man said, spitting promptly on the floor.

“I meant no disrespect—”

“And I ain’t no ‘Mr. Sanchez’, so don’t even think,” he accused. “It’s Daryl. Get it straight.”

“Daryl, then,” Rick repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

He gave his hand in mostly reflex like he did before a questioning. Worked most times, too, but this time he got no response.

Instead, the man left with a scowl on his face, mop in hand, mumbling a string of curses from under his breath.

Rick just stood there, dumbfounded.

**oOo**

The rain settled in the morning. The sun even managed its way out of the clouds.

Rick knew Shane’s eyes had been on him since eight lanes down.

He knew that Shane knew. Shane knew that Rick knew.

It was only a matter of when before Shane would start nosing around.

“Let me guess,” he started, that big stupid smile on his face that Rick could never have it in him to ever actually hate. “Lori, ain’t it?”

“Yup,” Rick said, taking a perfect turn.

He hoped Shane would just leave it there and put it to rest. But that was just wishful thinking.

“Man, must suck to be you,” Shane chuckled. He took out a cigarette and lit it, lips pressed tight against the filter. “Those bags under your eyes couldn’t get any worse.”

“Maybe.”

“So what? Gonna lay it down soon? Or are ya just gonna let her tell it to ya?”

Rick’s lip went up a little. “If you’re asking whether or not I’m gonna head on home and divorce my wife, the answer is no, Shane.”

“Didn’t say it had to go that way.” A thick fog of tobacco smoke filled the car. Rick swayed away what he could with his hand. “Just sayin’ there’s still a pretty big world out there, Rick. Nice girls and casinos all around.”

“Yeah?” Rick grinned. “Wouldn’t have guessed it if I tried.”

They both laughed, rushing quick through a yellow light. The streets were busy, typical of a Friday afternoon. Picking up kids, families going this way and that. Rick thought back a few years, when Lori still kept calm and Carl didn’t always look so glum.

Those were the days.

Good months and good years.

Rick wished he could have them back, wished Lori hadn’t done what she did. Things would still be alright otherwise, things would have still fixed themselves with a little time.

 “Swear, I’m gonna drag you down to one of’em casinos by them curls on your head,” Shane quipped with a smirk, shaking the ash from his cigarette from out the open window. “Make a few bucks and take some of the guys. It’d be fun, Rick. Get a hooker or two to dance real slow for us. Man, and those city lights. What I wouldn’t give.”

Rick shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“A little.”

A red light stopped them at the woods by Greenvein Avenue. The wet smell of trees flooded into the car, blowing the stench of Shane’s cigarette away. Rick took a breath, letting the smell of living bark and growing things take him right back to earlier that day.

Deer. Elk.

Warm fires.

“Hey, you know anything about that new guy at the station?”

“What new guy?” Shane asked, turning towards Rick. “There hasn’t been a ‘new guy’ since Christmas.”

Rick stayed quiet, feeling a little dumb.

Bad move.

“Ohh,” Shane drawled, his lips pursed out into an actual ‘o’. “You mean janitor boy with the figure eight cow lick?”

Rick didn’t say anything, just did what the green light told him to.

“Saw him just last night sweeping out the lunchroom,” Shane said almost proudly. “Grumpy little sonuvabitch. Likes it hard in the ass, too, if you ask me.”

Rick bit the inside of his cheek before raking a hand deep through the dark coils of his hair.

No victory in even trying. Shane was impossible. Ignore him enough, though, and he shut himself right up.

“And with that twang of his. Least he could do is wear something decent,” Shane continued, a big cheery smile on his face. “Probably came straying from those hillbillies down at Greenvein, like no one knows they do their tweaker shit from a mile down. Cuffed at least a dozen of’em in the past year.” He laughed, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the granite of the road. “Why, man? Hick giving you trouble?”

Rick shook his head with a casual scratch to the chin.

“You know, Shane,” he said, a stretched smile on his face. “Been thinking, maybe I will take you up on that offer. The casino, I mean.”

Shane agreed immediately.

Rick never brought up the subject again.

**oOo**

By the time the final shift of the day ended, the rain had started up all over again.

Rick went straight to the lockers, uniform drenched, always careful in unloading his gun before placing it in the very back where he kept an extra mag of bullets.

Wasn’t long until Shane came running right behind him.

“Heading home this early? It’s Friday night!”

“That’s right,” Rick said, shrugging of his jacket. “Lori’s at home. Promised her I’d be there on time. Said she was gonna make dinner.”

Shane shook his head twice, arms crossed all casual with his shoulder firm against the wall.

“Damn, Rick,” he said, “never thought I’d see the day.”

Rick turned towards him. “Once you settle down, you’ll see it real clear, Shane. It ain’t easy, but you won’t ever want it any other way.”

Shane just stood there, a grin on his face.

**oOo**

Once Rick made it to the neighborhood, he could already sense something had gone wrong since way before he had made it to the front porch.

When he stepped inside, sure enough, the house didn’t smell like any food had been cooking.

It was quiet, with only the kitchen light on and the livingroom in the same mess it had been in since the past several days.

He hung his keys, wiped his feet, took a deep breath, and expected the worst.

Lori was in the kitchen, red in the face with a piece of crumpled paper in her hand. Carl was sitting at the table with his head in his arms, staring out blankly towards the window. His eyes were wet. Rick looked away, rubbing hard at his temples.

“What happened now, Lori?”

He almost wished he hadn’t asked.

“ _What happened_?” she repeated in a sharp hiss. “This happened!”

She went over to Rick, slamming the paper into his chest a little harder than necessary. At that moment, Carl hid his face in his arms again. Rick looked down. A lot of ones and zeroes and not enough threes and fours. He turned it over, and sure enough the teacher had a whole lot to say about Carl’s ‘attitude’ and ‘lack of respect’.

“Says he hit a kid over a ball yesterday. Carl, why? Didn’t this happen just last week?”

“I already asked him why, Rick, believe me,” Lori shot, “more than ten times since before you managed to get here. Same excuse as always. I’ve gone over this with him a million times.” She turned towards Carl, her hands deep inside the roots of her long hair. “His teacher told me they’ll kick him out of the damn school at this rate. I can’t believe this!”

“I know, it’s hard, Lori,” Rick tried, approaching her. “But you’ve gotta calm down. Screaming and yelling at him won’t make him listen to you—”

“Then what will?” she shouted. “’Cause you sure as hell ain’t ever here to help me!”

“Lori—”

“I’ve seen how you sneak out in the middle of the night! You think I don’t notice? Must be that ditz woman from down the street, ain’t it! Heavens, Rick!”

“Lo—”

She approached, pressing her finger hard against Rick’s chest.

“So don’t you dare come into my kitchen and dictate to me that I don’t know how to raise _my_ child!”

Before Rick could say much, Carl got up. The chair fell loudly behind him. Tears rolled down his eyes like a loose faucet. Rick saw it. And before he could calm Lori down or say anything of real value to his only son, Carl rushed up the stairs without another word.

Rick never was a man keen to lose his cool. But with Lori shouting so close to his face, and with her finger constantly punching down on his chest, and with the problems at work and the crime on the streets rising, Rick whipped her wrist away with one hand hard enough to make her cry out.

And no, he’d never touched her before.

Not this way or that.

And he knew for damn sure that she’d probably use this against him for the rest of their lives until the day they both died, but his temper was tipping over, and Carl just looked so helpless and _sad_ —

He lent towards her close enough to share the same air, his voice low and rough.

“I’ve never once been unfaithful to you,” he said, firm and done. “Never even crossed my mind. Now, I can’t say the same for both our parts, but if your crazy imagination is more important than the issues at hand with our son, I don’t think I can take much more, Lori. I can’t.”

Lori froze frigid, her breathing gone shallow. Rick could see the dam breaking in her eyes.

“I’ll have a talk with Carl tomorrow, that’s for damn sure. And I’ll make things right, I promise you. But this,” he said, letting go of her wrist and motioning towards the space between them, “ _this_ is a problem involving only you and me. Not Carl.”

Saying nothing further, Rick took his keys and went right out the door.

**oOo**

The moon had gone and hid behind the purple shroud of clouds in the sky by the time Rick had gotten to the station.

It was pitch dark with rain pouring nonstop.

Hadn’t rained this hard in King County since four seasons back.

Rick chucked out his keys and unlocked the door to the station, trying his best not to think about what had just happened.

But it was hard, and Rick just couldn’t anymore by the time he got to his desk.

He kicked at the chair and then at the mountain of papers he had neatly piled next to it, making them fly everywhere like some sort of angry holiday.

Next was the desk, which wasn’t such a great idea at the end of the day, because the framed photograph he’d kept at the corner of it fell and shattered into a sharp explosion made up of one thousand little regrets. You’d think lady luck would just shoot herself dead then, but then an open can of soda Shane had probably left there from earlier fell right onto it, destroying the picture Rick had kept of a smiling baby Carl since way back when.

Nothing could ever go right.

He was a wounded man, meant for ruins.

He growled a curse and punched the desk before feeling outright stupid.

Rick looked around him with his hands on his waist, breath loud and livid. When he found some level of peace in the mess he’d made, he reached for the chair he’d brutalized and sat down, staring directly at nothing.

He was only thankful that Lori (or anyone, really) wasn’t around to see him like this.

“Damn, yer nuts,” came a voice from somewhere behind him.

Yep, today was just not the day.

Rick swallowed the embarrassment and swiveled calmly in his chair, meeting eyes with the man from yesterday. Except this time, the man had a broom on him instead of a mop.

“That’s what life does to you,” Rick sighed. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t go sorryin’ around for that shit,” Daryl clipped, kicking away some of the papers. “It’s this mess that I sure as hell ain’t cleanin’ again.”

Rick chuckled an honest chuckle before standing up.

“No worries. I’ll take care of it. Got all night.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Daryl’s eyes were blue.

“Damn cops,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Rick said for a reason he did not entirely know.

So Daryl did, brow quirked up low in a way that was either out of curiosity or annoyance.

“Name’s Rick, by the way,” Rick managed after a moment. “Rick Grimes.”

And to his surprise, Daryl actually seemed fine with the formality without cursing him out like he’d thought.

“Dixon.”

Again, Rick offered his hand. And this time, Daryl accepted it with his eyes low towards the ground.

That’s when Rick saw it, this up close and under the clear light, he could see traces of scars and yellowing bruises all along Daryl’s arm. Burns, too, or Rick wasn’t a cop.

Daryl felt to have noticed Rick noticing, though, because he broke the handshake a little too soon after that and recoiled almost like he’d been stung.

“You know,” Rick huffed out, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing. “I was actually just thinking about going out for a drink. Friday night and all. Nice game of pool. Or cards, if it ain’t your thing.”

Daryl looked to have thought about it, but then he shook his head.

“I ain’t one to get paid for nothin,” he said simply, going to pick up the broom. “Only job I could get and I ain’t losin it this time.”

“It’s on me. The blame and the drink, I mean.”

That must have done it, because Daryl seemed to have forgotten about the broom.

“Fine,” he said, eyeing Rick carefully. “But I ain’t got no car.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

It was faint, real faint, but Rick swore he’d seen a glint of genuine shock in those quiet blue eyes of his.

**oOo**


	2. Metal Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter coming your way. c: let the thangs begin~

**oOo**

By the time they’d gotten to the parking lot, Daryl seemed reluctant to even come near the car.

He eyed Rick up and down several times, eyes squinted low in that same suspicious look of his, almost as if he were waiting for Rick to jump up at him with a knife, or something.

“I got it fixed just last week if that’s what’s bothering you,” Rick said. Daryl didn’t look impressed. “The car, I mean. Clean record, too. Perfectly safe.”

Daryl didn’t say anything. Just glared.

After a brief moment of what seemed like contemplation, Daryl swung the door open and stepped in with a frown on his face.

Rick had to force down a smile at all that.

It was quiet outside.

The rain had leveled down, and the white of the moon had finally found its way from out of the clouds. Frogs croaked loudly and proudly somewhere in the distance, almost like a song. An annoying song.

Rick started the car.

“Haven’t seen weather like this in a while,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Not since at least a year. Usually nice and sunny around here. Good for the farms at the edge of town.”

Daryl shrugged one shoulder in response. “S’all the fuckin same to me.”

Rick decided it was best not to say anything else after that.

**oOo**

The bar wasn’t too full. And to Daryl, it seemed like a good thing.

They walked in, with Rick holding the door open and with Daryl scowling hard at the gesture.

Place was nice, Rick’s favorite. Small and familiar, his and Shane’s hotspot for the weekends.

Right up until Shane started changing, anyway.

Rick couldn’t quite put his finger on the exact moment it all started happening, but maybe around the same time that Lori started pushing him away—a year or so back.

Just the plain way that Shane would look at him from the other seat whenever the both of them were out on patrol rubbed Rick the wrong way, like if he knew something about him that Rick didn’t already know about himself. Or the way he looked at Carl. Like he loved him or something.

Which Rick reckoned wasn’t such a bad thing to begin with.

Shane had played with Carl since the day he could walk. Spent a good amount of time with him outside of that, too. Like a devoted uncle would. Even helped Lori do things around the house whenever he was too busy doing some overtime at work. And since Shane never really had a family to call his own—

Well, Rick stopped thinking about it much after that.

He brushed the thought away and went over to a pair of empty seats on the far left corner of the pub. There, they were greeted by a woman Rick hadn’t ever seen before.

Blond hair, colored eyes. A rare sight in King.

“Where’s Morgan at?” he asked her, motioning for two shots of whiskey.

“Called in sick,’ she told him. “Has been sick for a while last I heard.”

“He’ll pull through it. Guy always does,” Rick said, turning towards Daryl who now looked very stiff and uncomfortable in his seat.

Rick’s cheeriness went right down.

“Hey, you okay?”

“It’s nothin,” Daryl shrugged. “Don’t know why you give a damn, is all.”

“Ain’t doing something nice for a fellow stranger considered a good thing?”

“I guess,” said Daryl, taking the glass handed to him. “If yer that fuckin crazy.”

“I suppose I am crazy, then,” Rick grinned. “Not enough good in this world as it is, I always think.”

“Not enough money, is what you mean.”

Rick laughed. “Yeah. That, too.”

**oOo**

They sat in silence for a long while with the bottle of whiskey between them, complacent underneath the soft yellow light of the bar.

Maybe an hour had slipped through between them by the time Rick had challenged Daryl for a game at the pool table. And to Rick’s genuine surprise, Daryl had actually accepted.

They didn’t talk much, but the mere fact that Daryl looked pretty involved in what they were doing was enough for Rick to decide that maybe he wasn’t such bad company, after all.

Rick could admit to himself at that point that he’d gone rusty on the whole social part of his life, as the problems he bore with at home on the daily drained him dry of any energy to want to go out and be the social butterfly he once was. Only proper friend he had now was Shane. But then again, Shane never really was all that proper to begin with.

As for any of the lady friends Rick must’ve had once upon a time, well, Lori had already seen to that.

No time like the present, though.

“So how’d you come by through town?” Rick asked after a while, hitting the eight ball spot on. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

Daryl grimaced at the flawless move, moving more towards the center.

“Been livin here all my life,” he said. “Merle and I.”

“Friend of yours?”

“More like my brother. Merle ain’t keen with havin no ‘friends’.” He paused, reaching for the bottle of whiskey. He chugged a good amount of it, too. Rick stared in amazement, impressed by Daryl’s talent. Seemed like there was no way the guy could ever get drunk. “Yer turn.”

Rick nodded, allowing the subject to drop. He’d noticed from earlier that if he pushed even a little too much at conversation, Daryl retreated right back into himself.

The polar opposite of Shane.

Poke Shane around with enough words, and he went on and on forever.

When the final round of the game had been struck, Rick stood back, admiring his untimely defeat.

“You got me,” he said. “Fair and square.”

“Ain’t much to it,” Daryl shrugged. “If ya’know what yer doin.”

Curious as to how long he’d hung in there, Rick looked down towards his watch. It marked four in the morning. He raked a hand through the dark of his hair, shocked by how quickly time had snuck him by.

“Hey, uh,” he started, “wife’ll be on my case if I don’t get back soon. Kid and all.” Daryl looked towards him, empty bottle in hand. “You need a ride home, right?”

And maybe it was just Rick’s sleep-deprived imagination that had conjured it up, but he nearly swore that he’d seen a sort of twitch at the mention of ‘wife’ and ‘kid’ somewhere along Daryl’s face.

Miniscule, but definitely there.

Daryl didn’t say anything about it, though. Just tossed the bottle back at Rick.

“Ain't need nothin."

Rick just stood there, a little confused.

Only thing he managed to register after that was the front door of the place shutting hard from behind him.

**oOo**

After a good while of looking, Rick had given up.

No sign of Daryl.

Just the dark of the woods coming alive with all of the frog croaking going on.

He thought maybe Daryl had gone _into_ the woods, since they’d been so close to Greenvein, anyway, where most people from the deeper South of nearby towns came and hunted and sometimes made home to come and settle down.

Rick thought maybe Daryl just didn’t want him to know where he lived.

But then Rick thought maybe it just wasn’t any of his business.

Sighing into himself, Rick took a careful U-turn, trying not to think too much about the whole thing.

**oOo**

Once Rick got back home, Carl was completely knocked out on his bed.

Captain America in hand, looking like an angel had come right down and kissed him.

Lori was, too, in the other room. All wrapped up in blankets with her long brown hair splayed out on the pillow like a spill of warm coffee in the morning.

Rick chose not rouse her, settling instead on the sofa downstairs.

After only a few seconds of enduring the dry weight of his eyelids, Rick fell fast asleep.

**oOo**

Morning hit.

The cold fog of the outside caked the windows dull, blotting out whatever little sun there was.

Rick woke up with his head weighing double, keening back a bit from the bad cramp that was beginning to act up rather violently from somewhere on the tender joints of his left leg.

Maybe Shane was right. Maybe he _was_ getting old.

He stood up real slow, hoping not to make it worse. God knew he wasn’t ready for this yet.

He made his way upstairs for a quick shower, careful not to wake Lori. The hot water felt good, a soft caress against the sharp knots in his muscles. After a while of just standing there, he got out and got dressed.

Jeans, jacket, and a black t-shirt. Simple.

He combed both his hands deep into the wet curls of his hair, gathering it all up in the same way he always did.

Today was the day he’d speak to Carl. Take him somewhere nice to make him feel safe and comfortable, because Rick knew his son well enough to know that Carl wouldn’t say an honest thing about anything unless he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t get yelled at for it. And the goal here wasn’t to shout at him, of course. Rick just wanted to see his son smile again.

He went over to the next room, piling up some of Carl’s clothes in his arms before going over to his bedside. He shook him gently by the arm at first, and then a little harder.

“Carl. Wake up,” he whispered.

It took a few times, but then Carl slowly opened his eyes.

“Dad?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.

“Get up, son. Let’s go get us some breakfast.”

And for the first time in several months, Carl gave a little smile at Rick.

**oOo**

When they got to the car, Rick told Carl he could choose where they were going.

Chuck E. Cheese, Mexico, Disneyland, anywhere.

But then Carl looked at him a little strange, like if he were expecting this all to be some sick joke Rick was playing.

“I’m serious,” Rick smiled. “You’re the sheriff for the day. You lead, I follow.”

Eventually, Carl settled for IHOP. Rick knew that wasn’t really where his heart lied, though. Carl loved going to Chuck E. Cheese almost as much as he loved wearing his hat from work.

“’Fraid the sixth graders will look at you funny?” Rick asked him.

“No, dad,” Carl pressed. “I don’t even care about that stuff anymore.”

Rick chuckled a little. “If you say so.”

They got there, and sure enough, they were the first ones there. Carl led them both to his favorite booth, where the biggest window was. The waitress welcomed them warmly, pen and notepad in hand.

“What can I get you two gentlemen this morning?”

Rick motioned for Carl to go on ahead.

“Um,” he started, flipping through the menu with a real serious look on his face. “Chocolate pancakes.”

The waitress nodded. “You got it.”

Rick went for something simple. Plate of eggs and bacon was good enough for him.

When the waitress left with the menus, Rick looked at Carl. A large part of him felt bad for needing to spoil the happy mood between them, but he knew that it was ultimately for the best.

He sighed, clearing his throat.

“I need to talk to you about what’s happening in school, son.”

Carl’s smile dried right up.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“What’s going on with you, Carl? You know you can tell me anything.”

Carl looked to the side, rubbing a little at his arm. “Promise not to tell mom?”

Rick swallowed, looking towards his lap. He’d never kept anything from Lori before. Not about him, not about Carl, not about anything.

“I promise.”

Carl relaxed a little at the agreement. He brought his hands to the table. Rick watched him closely, noticing how nervous he looked with his fingers tangling into themselves back and forth. He didn’t say anything, though. Just gave Carl some time to think things through on his own.

“I just,” Carl uttered after a moment, hardly loud enough. “I just don’t like how you and mom scream at each other, or how we don’t go out to the movies anymore,” he paused, the blue in his eyes growing wet as he went on. “I don’t like how mom talks about Shane all the time—”

That sure struck something, because Rick stopped him right there, a sort of awkward confusion in his brow.

“How does Lori talk about Shane, Carl?”

“I don’t know,” Carl shrugged, retreating into himself like he’d said something wrong. “Just why you aren’t more like him. Like, to help her with stuff, I think.”

Rick didn’t push it anymore after that. This wasn’t about him and Lori.

He reached over and placed a firm hand on Carl’s shoulder.

“Carl, your mom and I will work things out,” he told him. “I promise. But you’ve gotta make me a promise, too, alright? Man to man.”

Carl nodded, wiping his eyes.

“You’ve gotta promise me that you’re gonna put your whole mind into school,” Rick said. “Not saying you’ve gotta go around acing every little thing you do, but you’ve gotta absorb all that knowledge like one of them talking sponges you watch on tv, and just run with it until you end up flying. You can do anything, son, and I’ll always be there to lift you up when things get tough, like the Robin to your Batman.”

And for the first time in a long time, Carl laughed.

A happy, genuine laugh.

Teary-eyed and sloppy, but Carl damn well laughed and Rick didn’t think anything could be any more satisfying than seeing just that.

**oOo**

By the time they’d gotten back home, Lori was already awake.

Hair up and dressed up, not looking too happy.

“And where were you two this whole morning?”

Rick went over and kissed her on the cheek. And this time, she didn’t flinch like she often did.

“Thought I’d take Carl to breakfast,” he told her, sneaking in another kiss. “Nothing too crazy.”

She kissed him back, turning her attention towards Carl.

“We’re going to grandma’s for the weekend,” she smiled, bringing him in for a hug. “It’s her birthday and she wants to see her precious little grandson.” Carl didn’t object, but he also didn’t look too stoked about it, either. “Go and get your things, alright?”

Carl nodded. He rushed upstairs and did as he was told.

“You didn’t tell me about this, Lori,” Rick said after a moment. “Thought we were gonna head out to town and take Carl to the movies. You know how bad he’s wanted to see that Metal Man thing.”

“I think seeing his grandparents after almost an entire five months of not doing so is a little more important, Rick,” she told him. “Iron Man can wait.”

Rick opened his mouth to object, but then he decided it was best to leave it the way Lori wanted it.

“Okay,” he said simply. “I understand.”

The last thing he needed in life was another argument with his wife over something stupid like this.

**oOo**

Rick had always considered himself a person who bored very easily.

At least at work he had something to set his mind to, something to keep him busy; a goal, a need to get from point A to point B.

He paced the house, rearranging books and pictures frames this way and that. He tried sitting at the tv for a few minutes, and then he tried taking another shower. Twice.

Then he concluded that maybe just sleeping the day away would be a better idea.

He stripped down to the bare skin on his back and threw himself in bed.

And goddamn it felt good.

Thing was huge, after all. A vast open ocean of nothing but warm winter blankets and Lori’s blueberry perfume.

By the time the clock downstairs struck five in the afternoon, Rick was already fast asleep, face smashed deep into the pillows.

**oOo**

Sleep was brief.

With what Shane materializing himself at the front door, punching away at the doorbell like he’d gone crazy.

Rick jumped off the bed in reflex with his fingers going straight to his hip, the fact that he wasn’t in the middle of a gunfight taking a minute to really sink in.

He threw on whatever and shuffled downstairs, cradling the painful thrum in his head. And sure enough, it was Shane at the door with his finger triggered steady on the doorbell.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rick mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “My head’s about to fall off as it is.”

“Man, you look like hell,” Shane chuckled. “Looking like you came crawlin’ fresh from the grave.”

“That about sums it up,” Rick yawned, stretching. “My back’s been killing me, man. What’s going on?”

Shane’s lip went up into that sharp little grin of his, same way it always did whenever he had some wild idea fleshing itself out in his head.

“Few of the guys are meeting up for a drink,” Shane said, giving Rick a friendly slap on the shoulder. Rick almost fell over. “But ain’t no drink without Rick!”

“Shane, it’s like one in the morning. Lori and Carl ain’t here,” Rick told him. It did nothing to simmer Shane’s resolve, however. Rick sighed. “And I’m not going to no bar right now. All sorts of trouble in there Saturday nights.”

“Who said it had to be the bar, man?”

Rick looked at him funny. “What, you mean the station, then?”

“Yeah, why not? No one’s gonna talk if we all hush up, right?”

Rick looked away and thought about it.

One, he could kindly close the door on Shane’s face at that instant and be done with it. Make some hot tea and call it a day. No drama, no strings.

Two, he could give in to Shane’s shenanigans for once and let himself unwind a little.

God knew he needed it.

Not like he’d be planning on doing anything crazy, anyway. Just a beer with a couple of friends, hang out, come back, and go right back to bed.

“Fine,” Rick said after a while. “I’ll meet you guys there,” he paused. “But _no_ hookers, alright?”

Shane laughed. “Man, I love you.”

“Love you, too, brother.”

**oOo**

It was all noise and drunken laughter with five or four of the guys lounging around in a semi-circle.

The lunchroom was a mess.

Cold beers and bottles of jack stacked up high instead of the coffee machines that were usually there.

“Well if it ain’t our own officer friendly!” one of them shouted.

“That’s right,” Rick said, grabbing himself a Corona. “The one and only.”

And Rick must have been a genius at telling jokes or something, because everyone burst out laughing. Rick gave it a little smile of his own. No harm in taking pride in your bad punchlines now and again.

He took a seat across from Shane, melding himself quickly into the conversations going around.

Guns and girls, mostly. The occasional arrest story and good cigarette. Weed busts. The crazy old lady calling in all the time demanding for the rescue of her purple cat. Angelina this and Scarlett that.

Rick spaced out after a while, concentrating instead on the good game of cards he and Shane had been keeping up through the hours.

And Rick didn’t really know why, but then Shane started talking about going out hunting with him one day. To let off some steam and kill a few things. His words, anyway.

Now, Shane wasn’t one to go out hunting out of the blue. He was more of a football and casinos type of guy. And if Shane _did,_ in fact _,_ go hunting and Rick himself was all wrong, then Rick just didn’t know about it.

And Rick knew everything about Shane.

Just like Shane knew everything about Rick. An even trade.

And for an unsettling reason that Rick didn’t know about yet, Rick thought back to what Carl had told him earlier that day at the restaurant. He shook the thought away nearly as soon as it came, however.

This was his friend, after all.

Best friend in the world since high school.

No way there could be anything going on with Shane that Rick didn’t already know about.

“Why all of a sudden?” Rick asked him after a while, playing a perfect draw of hearts.

“I dunno, man,” Shane mumbled from the filter of his cigarette. “Better to take out what’s ours from those woods than let those hicks that keep coming have it for themselves.”

Rick’s brow knit a little. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, man,” Shane stressed. “Fuckin’ hate them tweakers. Like cockroaches hiding out in the corners of things, you know? Say the wrong damn thing to one of’em fuckers and they might as well just shoot your whole family dead.”

Rick didn’t say anything. Not with Daryl coming to mind.

The sort of wariness in the way Daryl moved told Rick a few things, and they weren’t any of the things Shane was suggesting. And judging from those scars and burns he had all over his arms, the self-protective shyness in his eyes..

“Not all of them are like that,” Rick found himself saying.

But before he could take it back or maybe cover it up with some other subject, Shane started to laugh.

“You kidding, Rick? What the hell—“

But then Shane stopped, looking like he’d just started connecting a puzzle in his brain.

At that point, Rick almost stood up and left. This was already going the wrong way.

“Ohohoh,” Shane snickered, loud enough to make a few of the guys in the back turn around. “Don’t tell me that my good friend here’s gone soft on the edges for the pretty boy hick he met a few days back!”

“Shane,” Rick pressed, attempting to quiet him down. “Shut up, won’t you? You’re being—”

“No wonder you asked! Oh, _man_ —“

But before Rick could physically shut Shane up or worse, a man who looked a whole lot like Daryl came walking into the room, mop in hand.

Rick looked at Daryl. Daryl looked at Rick.

And Rick knew for damn sure that in that small fraction of a second, Shane had caught on to it. Seen it. Understood it.

“Lori’s making dinner, my ass!” Shane boasted, slapping his thigh. “You were with this twink right here the whole time!”

Rick stood up to leave immediately, not a man keen to argue in front of a live audience with a drunken Shane. But before he could make a discrete leave, the whole room had exploded into a racket of hoots and catcalls.

_Damn, boy! With a face like that I’d lay down ten bucks on your ass!_

_Hell be damned! It’s Merle’s boy!_

And it might have been the look strung tight in Daryl’s face as he bit right back at them like a wounded snake, or the way Rick himself was just so sick of everyone’s shit; might’ve even been the way Shane had been looking at him the whole time, and _just_ him, not laughing or smiling anymore, but just plain _looking_ at him from behind all the noise.

Smug. Cold.

Like he knew something.

Knew everything.

Hated something.

Hated _Rick_.

Time slowed down just like it did in the movies.

That’s when Rick saw it all real clear.

What Carl told him at the restaurant.

The subtle change in Shane.

Lori.

The affair.

The outright refusal to talk about it. _Any_ of it.

Enraged, Rick flipped the table he and Shane had been sitting at. Chair, too. Everything.

Everyone went stone quiet.

Rick didn’t say a word. Couldn’t.

He brushed past Daryl and left, leaving Shane and the silence far behind him.

**oOo**


	3. Chupacabra

**oOo**

Rick didn’t get out of bed the next day.

Just laid there. Thinking.

The house went empty all morning and all night.

He thought about confronting Lori about the affair for a fifth time, about getting her to at least tell him that he’d been thinking about it all wrong. That the queasy feeling twisting itself into the pit of his gut was just some stomach bug; that it hadn’t been his best friend she’d gone and slept with for several-or-so months behind his back.

Yet, no matter how much he attempted to persuade himself otherwise, Rick felt guilty for just letting the whole thing cross his mind.

This was his _wife_ he was questioning here.

The mother of his child. The only woman he could ever love.

Of course Lori wouldn’t ever hurt him like that.

**oOo**

Rick couldn’t even bring himself to look Lori in the eye by the time morning hit.

Couldn’t even look at himself.

“Just dropped Carl off,” she told him, expecting a response. Rick just continued to button up his uniform. “Rick? You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure don’t look like it,” she paused. “Rick, where were you last night?”

Rick didn’t say anything, just laced up his boots. Lori gave up after a while. Rick heard her get into the shower. He took the opportunity and left the house without a second thought.

He jumped in the car, turned on the ignition, and sat back, pinching hard onto the bridge of his nose. If Lori weren’t home, he’d skip work. That’s how shitty everything felt.

Hardly any sun outside. Just crude wind and twelve sheets of fog.

Sitting there alone, Rick thought back two years and remembered the look on Lori’s face when he’d asked her what the hell Shane’s belt’d been doing in their bedroom. And it was either some A-list Hollywood acting shit, or Lori _really_ couldn’t believe Rick would ever think to ask her such a thing in the first place.

Looked right at him like the thing belonged there, too, like it’d _been_ there, and Rick was the only crazy one in the room for even questioning its presence.

 _He went up to fix the plumbing in the sink this morning_ , she’d said real calmly with her hand settled on the side of her hip, _because I told you to do it several times last week and of course you never did_.

Rick bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Shane didn’t know jack shit about plumbing.

**oOo**

Rick avoided Shane like the plague.

Didn’t work so well, though, when it was time for patrol.

He considered meeting up with the sheriff in order to tweak a few things so that he could at least get a month training one of the rookies or something, but right when he had finally willed himself to stand outside the guy’s office, Rick decided that was the coward’s way out.

So when the dreaded time came, he damn well got in that car with Shane, promising himself he would simply drive and look ahead and not speak a word to him.

He could feel Shane’s eyes looming on him from the opposite seat, though. And at times, Rick wished he could just shove him out the window and let the cars in the back deal with the rest of it. God knew he’d dealt with enough of Shane’s shit in the past two days to last him a lifetime, anyway.

Even without his baseless suspicions in mind, what happened Saturday night in front of half the damn station was just outright heartless on Shane’s part.

Rick’s vision went red just thinking about it.

“I know you probably hate my guts for what happened Saturday,” Shane said at last, shattering the silence at a red light. Rick’s jaw shifted to the side. “But I want you to know that I’m sorry, man. You’re my brother, you know that. I got your back, you got mine. I was just drunk off my ass.”

Rick managed a stiff nod, his thumb a quiet thrum on the leather of the wheel.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, you know? I mean, the redneck part I sure as hell was, don’t get me wrong, but calling you out like that in front of the others—” Shane shook his head in what Rick assumed was a gesture of shame. Or pity. “I’m sorry, Rick. Really am.”

Rick had to swallow the need to punch Shane’s face in at that point.

Shane must’ve noticed.

“I know you ain’t no bitch, Rick. You’re a hardworking guy and I love you for that,” Shane tried again, his voice gone soft. And if Rick hadn’t known Shane the way he did, Rick would’ve believed it. “And I know you ain’t just gonna let it fly into the wind like that, what I did. Takes time, I know, but all I’m saying is that company you’ve been keeping? That redneck bitch? Bad news, man. Next thing you know he’ll be humpin’ your leg.”

Rick stayed real quiet.

He scratched the flat of his chin, taking a left.

“Just lookin’ out for you, brother.” Shane took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Rick turned down the windows. “You and Lori and Carl. Now, that’s everything to me. Be damned if I ever let some fleabag get too close to that.” Shane laughed, blowing out a steady stream of smoke through his nostrils. “I’d take a bullet for you at the end of the day, Rick. The whole damn magazine, even. You know that, don’t you?”

They crossed Greenvein. Rick tried not to think.

No smile, no frown, nothing.

Just an emptiness gone bone-dry in the middle of his chest.

The thought of Lori and her long brown hair reeling in his head;

Of Shane on top of her. Fucking her into the mattress of the bed.

The belt.

The new phone she’d bought out of nowhere while she still kept the other.

The bored look in her eye whenever Rick tried to make love to her.

The guilt in her eyes.

“Yeah. I know,” Rick said after a while. “I know.”

**oOo**

Night fell quickly that afternoon.

A plate of food greeted Rick in the fridge once he got home, along with a text informing him that Lori’d taken Carl with her to the grocery store.

Rick sat down and ate without tasting before trudging on upstairs towards the bedroom.

There, he weighed his options in silence.

Confronting Lori would surely worsen everything.

Especially if he presented even the slightest notion of what he’d been thinking.

But the thought of leaving things how they were now—stagnant and empty—hurt even more, and Rick didn’t think he could bear it.

He’d finally break. Or worse, lose it. And the last thing he wanted was for Carl to see him like that again.

He cradled his head into his hands, held a deep breath, and waited.

**oOo**

Wasn’t too long until a ruckus started itself up at the front door of the house.

Rick heard Carl stomp all the way into his room hard enough to make the flooring shake.

Rick stood up from his place on the bed the moment Lori barged in, her hand dug deep into the roots of her hair. She looked frantic, nearly tripping on her feet.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Rick,” she said, not sparing him a glance. She went directly towards the window, opening it. “He won’t listen to me, he won’t even look at me. He hates me. My own son hates me.”

Rick sighed, bringing his hands to his hips. He approached Lori from behind, keeping a fair distance.

“Carl doesn’t hate you, Lori,” he said real gently. “He’s growing up, and he’s gonna act up just like any other kid.”

Lori didn’t respond, just stood there, taking deep breaths. Rick sighed.

Maybe most things in their marriage would’ve gone a helluva lot better if he’d been just a bit wittier with words.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Lori went on, her voice cracking. “I try so hard to make him smile, to get him to tell me where I went wrong as his mother. But he just looks at me like he’d rather not even have me _be_ his mother. Jesus, Rick—”

“Lori,” Rick pressed, placing his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll come through, alright? It’s hard on all of us.”

Lori nodded after a moment, leaning in towards the warmth of his touch.

“I’m a terrible wife, aren’t I, Rick? I’m such a bitch. God, even my mom knows it.”

“Hey,” Rick snapped, “don’t put yourself down like that, alright? It ain’t true.”

Rick couldn’t see it from where he was, but he knew Lori had started crying. He pulled her in by the waist, his face nestled comfortably into the brown length of her hair. He breathed her in, kissing the side of her neck

Blueberries and strawberry lotion.

He closed his eyes, pressing himself against her.

And if things weren’t so bad between them—

“I know this isn’t the best of times,” Rick began, pulling away with a painful reluctance. “But I really need to ask you something.”

Lori turned to face Rick. She wiped her tears and crossed her arms firm against her chest: the usual thing she did whenever she’d already started putting up her walls again.

Rick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was now. Or it was never.

“Look, I know you hate talking about this, but,” he paused. Lori’s face had already gone stern, her eyes sharp and almost hurt. He looked to the side, his heart hammering like a stuck motor against the bone of his chest. “Shane wasn’t here for plumbing out the sink that one time, Lori. You know that. I know that.”

Rick couldn’t will himself to look at Lori anymore.

He kept to the ground, prepping himself for the worst.

He didn’t know whether he should resent her for what she could have more than potentially done to him, their marriage, their _son_ , or hate his own guts for accusing his wife of something so predominantly fucked up like fucking around with Shane Walsh.

Either way, she said nothing.

Rick could hear the dry fury in the quick pulse of her breathing, though, could feel the outrage knit high into the rim of her brow.

And he almost voiced his regret, could almost feel the apology slipping through between his lips, until a keening blow to the side of his jaw took the air straight out of both his lungs.

Hard enough to sting, hard enough to bleed his lip open.

He brought up his wrist, struck more by his own disbelief than the physical shock of it.

Lori stared him down, unmoving.

Angry. Betrayed. Like he’d gone and faulted her of the worst kind of murder.

Rick blinked, a thick thread of red fleeting down to the tips of his fingers.

“Get out of my house, Rick Grimes,” Lori hissed.

And it was a hiss so cutting, so cold and so _harsh_ , that Rick almost didn’t recognize her.

Almost didn’t _want_ to recognize her, because even though he’d rather not accept it, rather ignore it, black _raw_ guilt had been stamped all over her the entire time.

Rick felt like he would die.

He grabbed his jacket and left without looking back.

**oOo**

He drove without knowing where.

Almost therapeutic.

Almost enough.

Rick stared directly towards the road, taking deep breaths.

He thought of Carl, of walks in the park or at the shore of the ocean. Clear skies and lattes and the inevitable balance of a good breakfast.

Happy things.

No affair. No lies. No Shane.

But then the thought of Lori came back to him just as clearly, and even the mere smell of her perfume on the hem of his collar made him want to wreck the car somewhere.

How she’d kept this so quiet and so hidden for so long—the nonchalant act she’d put up when she assured him it was no one he knew, no one that mattered. That it was never a big deal, that the guy lived in another state. A long-distance thing, no sex.

And he’d _trusted_ her.

Trusted and ate up every single last crumb of all her shit.

Rick’s knuckles whitened on the wheel, his jaw shifting hard enough to hurt.

Because out of all the clowns involved, he was quite obviously the biggest moron of the group.

Including Shane.

And when he knew he’d purposefully push himself to do something stupid that night, Rick stopped the car, took a long left towards Watt Grove, and found himself a place to park in outside a shady-looking liquor store.

He went in and headed for the back, earning himself a stare or two from the guy up front, a cold bottle of Hennesy Cognac in mind.

**oOo**

The rain simmered.

Rick sat in the car, eyes drawn and lowered towards the paper bag in his lap; thinking.

It’d been a while since he’d done this. Considered this.

At least, not without Shane.

He placed the bottle on the other seat and lowered the windows before sitting back, the smell of trees and wet gravel quick to bring him right down from wherever he’d been.

He took deep breaths and vented to counts of ten.

Eventually, it helped.

He’d suck it up and confront Lori’s lies later, because at the end of the day, Carl was still counting on him to be a good enough father.

Rick sighed, rubbing his face.

Just take it positive.

The day he found truth.

The day truth found him.

A day of learning, an experience.

And, hell, for all he knew, he could be dreaming up the whole thing. No use in acting childish.

Not in the middle of a Monday night, at least.

He turned on the ignition and backed up.

Maybe some paperwork would make things hurt a little less before calling it a night.

**oOo**

The station seemed empty. Soundless.

Rick looked around before shrugging off his jacket, bottle in hand.

He went for his desk and sat down.

That’s when he saw Daryl from the corner of his eye, sweeping through some of the desks.

His hair looked the same, but this time he wore an actual shirt. Simple, and riddled with drips of white paint, but still a shirt, no less.

Rick’s lip curled up a bit, though the thought of what happened Saturday made him bite that smile right back again.

And if Rick hadn’t already been under so much of Shane’s shit that night, he knew he would’ve said something in Daryl’s defense.

...Of course he would’ve said something.

Rick sat up and swiveled his chair just enough, trying hard at a half-assed grin.

“Hey.”

No response.

He tried again, deeming Daryl hadn’t heard.

Still, nothing.

Rick looked away in defeat.

He took the Hennesy from out of the bag, popped it open, and stared at it, cold water leaking to soil the completed reports from underneath it. When he heard Daryl on the verge of taking his work elsewhere, Rick cleared his throat loud enough to stop him.

“Hey, I know I fucked up back there,” he called. “But maybe a few shots of this thing could let us get off on a better start. Or end. Whichever.”

Daryl scoffed.

“It doesn’t even have to be about that, then,” Rick tried again. “Guess I just wouldn’t want this whole thing to go to waste.” 

Rick motioned at the bottle. This time, Daryl turned towards Rick, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Jack?”

“Even better.”

Daryl looked to have thought about it like he thought about most things Rick offered him. He dropped the broom and went over to Rick’s desk, a very disinclined frown on his face.

Rick reached for the chair behind him, bringing it in. After a moment of having a stare off with it, Daryl sat down, rolling himself a few inches away from Rick.

“You must think I’m a real asshole,” Rick said, whipping out two plastic cups. “Seeing me hulk out like that twice and everything.”

“Fuck you.”

Rick didn’t say anything, just poured the drinks.

He handed one to Daryl. “Okay, maybe I deserved that one.”

Daryl snatched it from him before sitting back down and swiveling the other way.

Rick watched him quietly. Daryl wouldn’t even spare him a glance.

“I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me anymore. This could be more of a truce, I guess. Pretend we never met.”

“Pfft. Never even wanted to talk to you, in the first place.”

Rick nodded, wetting his lips. “I get that.”

After a heavy minute of silence, Daryl reached over for the bottle and re-filled his cup to the brim, spilling some of it.

Rick figured that was Daryl’s way of hinting his leave.

“I think I lost my best friend today,” Rick heard himself say, eyes foggy towards the desk. “And the woman I married. I think I might have lost her, too.”

And he didn’t know whether it was the alcohol getting to him, or the tears finally kicking in from way before, but Rick swore he could almost feel a pair of bullets caving themselves deep into the raw tendons of his chest, bleeding him open, making him realize that the last thing he could ever stand to bear that day was being left alone like this.

And Daryl must have sensed it because he stilled where he was, turning towards Rick.

Slowly, he sat back down. Rick wiped away at his eyes, his voice breaking from its previous tone.

“I’ve got no one to trust,” Rick managed. He swallowed what he could straight from the bottle, raking a hand through the curls of his hair. “Ain’t that sad.”

Daryl kept to his lap, quietly toying with the copper liquid in his cup.

“Don’cha have a kid?”

Rick chuckled an empty chuckle. “I do. His name’s Carl. He’ll be twelve next month.”

Daryl nodded, not really knowing what else to say. Rick caught on to it and sat up in his seat, taking a breath.

No use in dwelling, or in bucketing his miseries onto someone else.

He had company, after all. Somehow. And he wasn’t about to go and fuck that up, too.

“You got a girl?” Rick asked after a while, attempting to lighten the mood. “You look like you would have a few.”

Daryl tensed at the question. He shook his head and shrugged one shoulder, looking away from Rick.

“Ain’t got none.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t need’em.”

“Any kids?”

“No.”

“Thought you would,” Rick said. “Bet you’re good with them.”

“Ain’t good at nothin,” Daryl quipped.

“I doubt that. Everyone’s got a calling.”

“Yeah,” Daryl scoffed. “Like cleaning toilets.”

“No, like drawing or singing or dancing or something.”

Daryl glared at him. “I ain’t no fuckin fairy.”

“Not saying you are,” Rick said. “I did my share of drawing back in the day. Mostly coloring and tracing, but at least it kept me out of trouble. I danced once. Twice. About ten years ago. It wasn’t so bad.”

“I hunt sometimes, out in the woods,” Daryl mumbled, almost a whisper. “Tracking stuff. Killed one of’em bears once.”

Rick’s brow went high, impressed.

“That’s something right there. Scope or site?”

“Just my two eyes and a crossbow,” Daryl said, refusing eye-contact. “All that fancy gun shit kills it for me. Scares away the chupacabra.”

“I get that,” Rick nodded, overlooking the last part. “Never really hear about crossbows nowadays. You good with them?”

“Good enough to be the last thing you ain't ever see.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Rick laughed, putting the bottle down.

Rick’s gaze stayed on Daryl while Daryl’s stayed somewhere on the ground.

The weight in Rick’s chest felt to have gone. Or maybe numbed. But at least he didn’t feel it.

He felt lighter.

Like he could go home right then and face Lori. Could go to work the next day and not fret over having to see Shane’s face again, like he could put things right in some way. Peel the bad and burn it and seal it up someplace. Heal his marriage along the way or patch it up or just leave it behind him, even though all three options would hurt just as much as the one before it.

Whatever it was, Rick felt like maybe he didn’t need Shane for any of it.

That maybe friendships die, and others grow to replace them.

“Thank you,” Rick said, shattering the silence. “For this, I mean. For talking to me, for listening. Now, I know I should have said something back there. Done something, spoke up. I know I should have done a lot of things—” Rick paused. He lent forward towards Daryl, close enough to share the same space of air, close enough for a whisper, and said, “But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

That’s when Daryl finally looked up at Rick.

Cautious—and almost unwilling—but Daryl damn well looked at Rick in the eye and Rick thought maybe he wasn’t such a shitty person, after all.

That maybe Daryl had forgiven him for not being man enough two days back. That maybe Carl really did have a good enough dad all along. That maybe Lori would work things through with him because he loved her and she loved him back—

But then a pair of lips pressed themselves tight against Rick’s, seizing him where he sat.

He froze, pulse caught cold someplace in his throat. A heat pushing itself against him, fevered and rough.

Like Earth. Trees. And warm fires.

Time slowed.

And even though Daryl reeled away from him in a panic, red in the face and cursing a string of what might’ve been anything, Rick knew he wouldn’t be able to forget the warm flutter Daryl had left him with that day even if he’d wished it.

**oOo**


	4. Even less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea why this was so difficult for me to write. It literally took me weeks, on and off, to finally finish this and I am still eghh about the end result. e.e

**oOo**

Finding something, _anything_ , to say hadn’t ever felt so distressing.

Rick looked to the side, any side, managing a broken laugh on his behalf.

He deemed it best for both their sakes if he simply overlooked whatever Daryl had been spewing for the past thirty seconds.

No use in complicating an embarrassing situation for what it only was:

A drunken mistake.

“Man,” Rick sighed, wetting his lips. “I guess too much of that stuff really isn’t always the best idea— ..hey, did it get warm in here?”

Daryl stayed quiet. Backed away.

Rick tried not to look his way even though he wanted to. To see the look on his face. Disgust, or maybe interest. Regret, or perhaps something not so much like it— _but weren’t they both men, anyway?_

Rick reached for the bottle of cognac and tossed it in the bin like it’d suddenly gone cursed, a sordid thing. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to do with his hands. Or with himself.

“I should get going. Back home,” Rick said to the ground. “Sorry about keeping you from uh. From your.. job. I know it’s late.”

Again, Daryl didn’t say anything. Rick didn’t ask.

He grabbed his jacket and went on his way faster than he ever had, unable to figure the right words to at least say a proper goodnight.

One thing was certain, however.

Rick did not go back the next day.

Nor the next.

**oOo**

Rick thought of hills.

Of long silver chimes listing in the wind.

Whiskey. Old leather, old cards.

Anything that was not the feeling of another man’s mouth on his.

And so far, it had actually worked.

He made sure to stick himself skin-close to the door of the car whenever he drove down all ten lanes during round shifts, cool and steady, as far away from Shane.

Made sure to keep it minimal with him. Clipped. Quick.

Not look at him. Think of him. Mind him. Anything.

Shane might’ve noticed. Might’ve not, knowing him.

All that mattered was that Rick was somehow getting himself through the days sane enough not to break his neck.

Lori wouldn’t speak to him.

Carl asked him why several times, and Rick had to tell him that he didn’t know each time.

In the car, Shane talked about a lot of things.

Like things between them were all the same as before, and they would have been, too, if Rick hadn’t recently come to realize the reason behind all of Shane’s quiet little leers he’d worn real wry behind his back for the past few years.

“Man, ain’t you glum these days?” he’d laugh. “All serious. What’s got you by the balls, Grimes?”

“Things.”

You and my wife, in my bed, in my home, with my trust _._

“What things?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure as hell ain’t look like ‘nothing’.”

“Well, it is.”

It’s really not.

And then silence.

**oOo**

That same day, Rick found himself standing outside the sheriff’s office.

He shifted from foot to foot, warring with himself.

Shane had gone home.

Hell, everyone except him and some guy at the showers had gone home.

And right when Rick felt he had definitely changed his mind about everything, the door opened in on him.

“Grimes?”

Man was taller than a post, with a belly big enough to pass as bulletproof. Domineering and maybe crude, but practical enough to reason with.

“Uh, yeah,” Rick faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, you know, talk to you about something?”

“Why not? Got all week.”

He stepped aside, motioning for Rick to step right in. Rick took a seat on one of the empty chairs, awkwardly placing his hands flat against either knee. And even though the room was perfectly cool with the constant thrum of the AC, Rick could already feel beads of sweat brewing.

“What’s got you, Rick? Don’t think I’ve heard a complaint from ya since the day I hired ya.”

Rick shook his head. “Well, it’s uh. Not really a complaint.”

“Problem, then?”

“Not that, either. Not really.”

“Then what is it, boy? Got all week, but not all month!”

Rick sighed, raking back his hair.

“It’s Shane. I need a change. A temporary one. Don’t matter who or what. Just for a few days. If you can.”

Dave laughed. “This a joke?”

“No. It’s not—“

“Thought you two were like glue to a fly’s ass!”

“Shane and I are—“

“What? Broken up?”

Rick bit his tongue hard enough to hurt. Asshat or not, this was his boss at the end of the day, the stamped signature to all of his paychecks. He shifted in his seat, distracting himself with the lonely Christmas mug on the desk.

“I’m just fuckin with ya, Grimes, you know that. Ain’t a bit of fag in ya if George Clooney tried!”

The word, for some unsettling reason, struck Rick hard enough to straighten up his spine. Like he’d been caught in the act of murder, but maybe even worse that.

All the while, he felt himself being stared at for a good solid minute. Up and down, this way and that. And right when Rick figured he should probably just go ahead and leave before his every last moment with Daryl could be seen somewhere from the way his face looked:

“Tell you what? It’s done. Anything else?”

Rick looked at him, confused. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’ll put you in on training with one of them new kids we hired. God knows they need it.”

Rick blinked, the need to explain the situation still itching at his lips so that maybe _that word_ could fall right out of his brain as he spoke.

“I—“

“Go home,” Dave said, handing him a slip. “You look like hell.”

Rick nodded, thanking him, before hurrying to do just that.

**oOo**

Dusk fell fast.

Rain poured, blocking roads, making it a hassle to even get home.

Rick went straight upstairs, hoping to sleep away whatever was left of the night. Officially having Shane off his back for at least a few days was a breath of fresh air to his life.

A first step towards fixing things with Lori, anyway.

As to when Rick was actually going to sit down and have a talk with Shane— _if_ he was even going to have a talk with Shane— well, that was almost as unclear as most things in his head.

Lori stood at the window of the bedroom, a thin purple nightgown falling from her shoulders.

Rick sighed, shrugging off his jacket. She looked good that way. With her long hair spilling from her back, her feet bare.

“I’m home.”

“I know,” she said. “Late, too.”

“Had a talk with Dave—“

“A very long talk with Dave.”

Rick grimaced, tossing his jacket somewhere to the side. At least this time she’d said something back.

“Look, I know things aren’t great between us. But we could still try to get it all back.”

“How?” she snapped. “You tell me, Rick, because I ran out of ideas a long time ago.”

Rick braved a step forward, his hands going to his hips. He looked to the floor, closing his eyes, thinking of all the times in the past when Lori had tossed herself into his arms whenever he got back from the job. Sun outside, smiling, telling him Carl had done a good thing at school, that she’d read a good book, that he should read it, too. All of that.

Then they’d make love, almost like they did twenty years ago under the stars.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “For what I said. That one time. I could’ve.. I don’t know, said it different.”

Lori stayed quiet, and when Rick opened his mouth to try again, she cut him short, turning sharply on her heel to face him. Dry tears caked her cheeks, new ones at her eyes.

Rick felt like shit.

“It’s true, you know,” she whimpered, unable to face him. She shook where she stood, hugging tightly into herself. “I.. I tried to tell you, Rick. I tried to tell you so many times. I swear it, but—“

“I know,” Rick said, though he didn’t.

He brought her in against him, forcing her to look up at him by the chin.

Looking at her, this close, vulnerable and guilty, Rick felt his chest sinking, caving in deep like a tank to the mud.

It was different hearing it from her. It hurt more, much enough to feel like he’d fall to the floor. Like a mace to the heart, a cold shovel to the face. The things he’d conjured up and replayed over and over in his head—Shane on her, grunting and grinning and fucking, and Lori liking it—all true, if not painfully accurate. And for all Rick knew, they’d fucked for more than just a few times, for more than just a few ways, too. In that very same room.

“If you would just tell me the truth, drop the act and tell me _everything_ —“

And of course Lori would pull away from him, leaving him cold with words in his mouth.

She wiped her face, quickly busying herself with folding some of the stray clothes on the bed. Rick watched her in silence, bereft of any more plausible words to say.

An entire hour felt to have passed them, so close but too many miles away.

“I just..” Lori managed, not loud enough. “I need time, Rick.”

“ _Time_? What kind of time?” Rick bit, holding back. “You’ve had all the _time_ —”

“Away from you, Rick. That kind of time.”

Rick reeled back like he’d been shot. Dumbstruck, shocked, hurt, everything that he could possibly think of.

Knowing he’d finally lose it, finally _break_ , Rick stormed out, leaving Lori to the silence.

**oOo**

He found a motel not far from the station, and went to work the next day.

It was easy enough driving a nerve-wrecked kid around for a few hours, even easier to ignore him.

Rick saw Shane walk up behind him when he’d punched out with that same smile on his face, though Rick didn’t speak a word to him. Walked right past him instead, like he’d been a ghost.

And he _was_ a ghost.

But even less.

The hours went away swiftly enough, and Rick felt them even swifter if he didn’t think of Lori, or of the hole taking root in his chest.

Taking Carl to school in the mornings was enough.

Carl smiled more. At least, in the car he did. Even took to showing Rick some of his drawings: Superman, Spider-man, Batman, Birdman—

“It’s _Hawkeye_ , dad,” Carl would press very seriously. “And he’s not a bird. He’s an agent.”

“Hawkeye, then.”

**oOo**

Nights hurt the most.

It’d been two days since Lori had practically kicked him out of the house.

Yet, it still felt unreal.

He’d expected a text or a call, anything, telling him, or at least _implying_ , that she’d made a mistake. That things had gotten out of hand, but that she’d be willing to tell him the truth if only for the sake of their son and maybe for the sake of their marriage.

But nothing.

That’s when Rick took to wondering if love on her part had ever even been a factor in it.

If it had all just been a fleeting delusion he’d conjured up, an excuse he’d created that in turn allowed Shane and Lori to get away with all the things they’d done.

Played lower than a fool. Looked at even worse.

Heaving, Rick paced the room with his hands clawed in his hair. His mind reeled, a dry panic sinking in.

When had it started?

For how long?

Did she love Shane? Did Shane love her back? Was it just him? Were there others?

 _Why_?

**oOo**

Eventually, Rick found himself mindlessly driving out in the middle of nowhere.

Torn skin bled at his knuckles, the sharp pain of it now setting in.

His head hurt. His eyes felt heavy.

He took a breath and pulled over to the side of the road before shutting off the car completely.

Thunder moaned from somewhere over the trees. Rain shot down like bullets, the darkness of the woods closing in on him from both sides.

It only took a minute or two of just sitting for Rick to realize he’d been driving up and down the exact same area he’d been the one time Daryl had walked out on him at the bar; even less to realize that his lip had already begun to pull up a little at the thought,

He bit it down just as quickly, however, when he swore to have seen the figure of a lone man trudging along real calm from the opposite side of the road.

Curious, he sat up, leaning in towards the dashboard, and from what Rick could manage in the pitch dark, guy was utterly soaked from the storm. Rick pulled down the window just enough before sticking his head out, squinting his eyes through the deluge.

He was immediately drenched.

“Hey! You need a ride?”

To his surprise, the man actually heard him. He paused, turning towards Rick.

Rick almost fell out the window.

“Daryl?” Rick called, already getting out of the car. “That you?”

He only managed about half a smile and two feet forward before Daryl gave him a very nasty look in return, the sheer weight of it staggering him back a few steps.

“You best back the fuck off,” Daryl warned him. “Don’t fuckin need nothin from you, got that?”

Rick stood there, stunned.

By the time he’d caught whatever was left of his bearings, Daryl was already gone.

**oOo**

Rick could hardly get himself out of bed the next day.

He took Carl to school fifteen minutes late and felt like shit for it.

When he got to the station, he went directly to the lockers, hoping to clear his head.

And when he finally willed himself to feel like maybe he’d live through the day, Shane strolled right in, making his presence known with his shoulder braced against Rick’s locker, slamming it closed.

“Hey man.”

He cleared his throat, deeming Rick (somehow) hadn’t heard him.

Again, nothing.

Sighing, Shane brought a hand to his head and rubbed back several times like he often did under stress.

Rick, despite himself, took note of this.

“You know, Rick,” Shane started. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I think I might as well believe it now. Don’t suppose it was just some bitch fit on Dave’s part for movin you out with’em rookies out of the blue, was it?”

Finally, Rick turned to face him, the urge to physically answer Shane’s question coiling itself like a dying snake in the inside of his throat. He grit his teeth, focusing instead on the scraping of his gums.

“You’re right,” Rick nodded, his jaw shifting to the side. “He did it because I asked him to.”

Shane smirked the same way he always did whenever he thought Rick was trying at a joke and chuckled, bringing his hand up to slap at Rick’s shoulder.

“Well hell, you sure that ain't Lori talkin for ya?”

Rick went rigid.

He took the extra step that separated them in a silent warning and shrugged away Shane’s hand, his breathing gone quick through his nostrils.

Shane did not relent, however. Just looked Rick straight in the eye, taller and bigger and obviously stronger.

This close, Rick could almost _count_ the lies stitched neatly into the smug creases of his grin.

“Look,” Rick snarled, low and rough. “You don’t get to say her name. Not ever. Not hers, and especially not my son’s. They ain’t yours to mention, and they sure as hell ain’t yours to claim. They are _my_ family. Lori is _my_ wife. And Carl is _my_ son. Alright?”

He stepped back, watching Shane watch him back.

No words, no nothing.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, not when Rick was looking at him like that. Like he was hurting. _Really_ hurting.

Saying nothing further, Rick snatched his jacket and left the room.

**oOo**

Rick didn’t bother going back to the motel after work.

Didn’t bother with a lot of things, actually.

He drove himself to the bar, heart set on getting as drunk as possible, maybe even enough to forget his own name.

His wife was a liar, his best friend was a liar, his heart was torn open, and for some reason he genuinely could not understand, Daryl Dixon suddenly hated him. And so he was left there, in some dark corner in some dark bar, with no friends and no working marriage and with a cold bottle of cheap-brand whiskey in his hand that he could not bring himself to chug.

Not even halfway through his second shot of it, guilt managed to catch up to him, and in the end, overwhelmed him enough to make him feel like the worse kind of idiot.

Sighing, he left behind a few bills and drove to the cold bed that awaited him.

When he arrived, he kicked the door open and slammed it shut, not bothering to lock it. He began to undress, barely able to make it out of his pants, but before he could toss himself to sleep for the night, a knock on the door caught him by surprise.

He got up and chucked on his jeans, deeming it was just the old guy from the front office responding to a noise complaint. He pulled back his hair with both hands and opened the door, met with the sight of none other than Shane.

He couldn’t find the words, didn’t even have the energy to look for them, but before he could simply slam the door on Shane’s face and not deal with any of it, Shane reached out and held it open, nearly causing Rick to fall on his ass.

“I need to talk to you, Rick,” Shane told him. “Please, man. Just for a minute.”

It took him a minute to even consider it, but then Rick found himself giving in like all those other times before. Shane walked in, quiet and shockingly cordial as he stood only by the door with his back to it, allowing Rick to properly slip on a shirt.

“Saw you at the bar, was gonna come and join you, but I figured you were still in that one mood from earlier.” Rick didn’t budge, didn’t say anything, just stared. “Look, I’m sorry,” Shane tried again. “For whatever I did.”

Rick’s hands went to his hips, back straight and with an unreadable look on his face. The common thing he did whenever he was actually fuming bright red from the inside. Shane would know this.

“Okay,” Rick finally said, nodding somewhere to the side.

Shane’s brow rose, flustered.

“So, that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Shane laughed, rubbing the side of his head.

“Man, it ain’t ever that easy with you. There’s something you ain’t telling me. What the hell is going on?”

Rick took a breath, wetting his lips. He could feel his hands begin to shake, the hurt in his chest opening again like it did each time he thought of Lori mewling underneath the weight of his best friend. And goddamn he tried to hold it back, to keep it at the pit of his tongue, but going around in circles like this was an even deeper wound to be clawing at.

“You’re right. It ain’t easy, and I’m sick of acting like it is. You slept with my wife, Shane,” Rick said simply. “But you already know that bit better than most, don’t you?”

At first, Shane stood there like he’d suddenly been shot pointblank, wide-eyed and gaping. But then he seemed to have caught on to his bearings well enough to step forward in plea, knowing there wouldn’t be any room for anything else once Rick started talking like that, that look in his eye, like he could read you and gut you all at the same time.

“Rick,” Shane started, “Rick, you have no idea—“

“Oh, I do have an idea—”

“Rick, it ain’t how you think—“

“Does it even matter what I think, Shane? Does it?” Rick pressed. He pushed towards Shane, face-to-face, with only a few inches to spare between them. “What I thought? What I felt? That you stabbed me in the fucking back? When I let you in? In my home, in my family, next to my kid? Does it matter, Shane? Does it _fucking_ matter? You fucking tell me if it matters, Shane.”

“It damn well matters,” Shane snarled. “You’re my brother. You get that? It was a mistake—“

And with nothing but flayed and muzzled anger pulsing like a stuck engine at the flesh of his throat, Rick threw the first blow, landing it clean against Shane’s jaw loud enough to echo the raw sound of struck bone into the room.

Shane stumbled back, incredulous, a thick thread of blood toiling down onto his fingertips. Rick watched him as he heaved like an animal in restraint, his grin only growing as he inspected the liquid curving along on the edge of his palm, looking towards Rick.

“Lori’s pregnant, you know,” Shane breathed, wiping his hand. “I’m gonna be a father, Rick. That’s why I’ve gotta be the better man this time around. For my kid. You get that, don’t you?”

The room fell silent.

Rick stilled, congealing, the air in his lungs leaving him faster than an axe to the chest ever could. And were it not for the shock in his bones that managed to sustain him upright as his body threatened to keel over, he would have collapsed somewhere on the floor.

“And you know what else, Rick? I’m gonna take care of that baby. I’m gonna love that baby, and I’m gonna raise that baby better than you’ve ever seen. And this,” Shane smirked, pointing at his lip. “This’ll heal right up, Rick.”

Last thing Rick managed to hear was the sound of the door being shut, the cold wood of the wall at his back as he slid down from it; lost.

It was a small and terrible death, like a feather over the flame of a candle, burning away until nothing but the soot of heartbreak remained.

**oOo**


	5. Might as well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize the awful delay, and I apologize. o; better late than never<3

**oOo**

If anyone had told Rick two years back that someday he’d make it this late to work, he wouldn’t’ve believed it if he tried.

But there he was, three and a half hours late on a Friday afternoon, caught at the door by none other than Dave before he could even think to punch himself in.

“You’re late, Grimes.”

“I know.”

“Crash on your way here, dyin from blood loss?”

“No, sir.”

“Huh. Any other good story for it?”

“No, sir.”

Dave eyed him down for a second, waiting for Rick to maybe cower or explain, but Rick just stood there, staring.

“Go on then, boy. You’ve got a nice pile of work to get done before noon.”

So Rick did, nodding.

He trudged on, earning himself a good amount of stares along the way. Someone might have said a thing or two to him amidst the haze, might’ve not. Either way, once Rick finally managed to get to his desk, he learned quickly that he couldn’t quite find it in him to even begin to pick up his pen.

He stared at it, rather, lost in a mindless whirl of thought. Looking, but not really seeing, and only just barely feeling the trill of a blood-pulse somewhere from underneath the peel of his veins.

His whole life reeled before his eyes. From grade school to high school, from his first date to the day of his marriage, from Lori’s pregnancy to the night Carl came out screaming, from that to here, and then…nothing.

Just this.

Here, at this desk, alone and brooding, and with a wife who’d achieved the pregnancy she’d said to have never wanted even if she’d wished it and who more than likely had always harbored a lasting lovesickness for Shane.

And Rick remembered it well, the first time Shane and Lori met. Shying and glancing, and of course Rick, as a husband who willingly trusted, would have thought nothing of it.

He sighed, held his breath. Looked to the side and then in front of him.

He felt sick, like he might vomit.

And so he stood up and walked out without saying anything.

**oOo**

Rain, it seemed, hadn’t poured that day.

No sign of fog, either.

Just the cold smoky chill of frozen concrete sizzling into the air.

Rick stood in place with his back pressed against the wet wall of the building, staring.

And as he watched the freight of rushing cars in the distance, he thought of maybe jumping into his own and then joining them, thought of walking out that very same day, thought of leaving.

He would quit his job and demand a divorce from Lori so that at least in that way he could go on living with some miniscule amount of dignity left to his name. He would move to another city, to another _state_ , since, after all, he could quite easily have an equal to better chance of ultimately gaining Carl’s custody if it came to it, and of course Carl would be _fine_ with it—

 “Grimes?” Rick turned, facing Dave. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just…” Rick mumbled, looking away. “Here. Looking. The cars, I mean. Sorry.”

“The cars, eh,” Dave repeated, crossing his arms. “Cars filling out those forms for you?”

“You know, I—” Rick scratched his chin, his hands moving on their own to sit at his waist. “I…I don’t know.”

“Son, what in the seven shits is going on with you? You showing up drunk? Cuz if ya are—”

Rick turned, shaking his head.

“No—no. I’m not. It’s just. I needed some air, you know, the ink gets to you in there. The printers, and the uh, the ceilings, I mean, the _walls—_ ” He stopped himself, knowing how stupid he must have sounded. He gave a little cough against his wrist, lowered his tone. “It won’t happen again.”

“Best not,” Dave said, his face stern. “See, I’ve got some kids in there who’d just love to sit in that chair of yours. Best keep up. Ain’t no one gonna wait up for you to slide that dildo out yer ass.”

Rick bit on his tongue hard enough to hurt.

“I get that,” he said, nodding to the ground. “And I do apologize.”

“Good,” Dave said, going inside.

Rick punched the wall. Bled a bit. Then he went inside.

**oOo**

Back to square one. Desk. Pen. Paper. Computer.

Through the hour, he had managed three reports. Not too bad, considering his mental state. He sipped at his just-made coffee and went on to the next one. Got halfway, and stopped.

He never thought much of it, but underneath his fingertips he held the power of looking up and sniveling through anyone’s most hidden fuck-ups in the county. And sure, he preferred not to ( _told_ himself not to), even though he’d been tempted to on more than just a few occasions. Could’ve been anything from the past. Some guy who looked at him the wrong way, or his shitty former neighbor. But Rick never did any of that. Pleasing his curiosity was not a thing he allowed himself much, at least not in this sense, because none of these people would have ever been worth the effort in the first place—  

Then, as if someone or something had suddenly begun tugging at the invisible strings of his hands, Rick realized without truly attempting to stop that he had already started punching in a set of familiar letters into the keyboard of his desk.

And he didn’t quite know why, nor did he bother to ask himself why, but as he went about it with his breath stuck dry in his lungs, he could’ve sworn to god that the entire time the whole world had been staring at the screen of the computer from somewhere over his shoulder.

But it wasn’t just that.

Guilt swelled itself into his throat like a vice, made his thigh shake from underneath the desk, ebbing him, _warning_ him—

Yet, someway, Rick’d managed to force it all down with a difficult swallow that felt to have cut. Enough, at least, so that that the guilt of it all was left clouded deep inside the pith of his stomach. And before Rick could perhaps urge himself towards the safety of the backspace button (because by now the name on the screen was dangerously typed out and ready to go and what if his hand slipped), his finger had indeed come to betray him, driving him to at last hit ‘enter’.

His fate had been sealed.

Peering only once from behind him, Rick discretely scrolled through the yellowed results, stopping only when he came across the name ‘Merle Dixon’, a name Daryl had undoubtedly mentioned to him before things had gone…weird, between them.

Slowly but tensely, Rick jotted down the gleaming numbers on the screen. Then he closed the window. A crude mix of regret and embarrassment bouldered down his body like a rolling hurricane. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. But it almost didn’t feel like a bad thing. More like a thrumming thrill at his throat. Something unknown, grazed. He snatched the piece of torn paper from his desk and wringed it in his pocket.

He stood, and it was almost like some sort of mass had been lifted.   

After that, work slew by almost too swiftly.

**oOo**

The real war, Rick learned, would begin firstly within the dilapidated purlieu of his motel room.

He sat, staring at the messy shred of numbers on the small wooden table across from him. Next to it, was his phone. Next to that was his wedding ring. Each had its own downpour of possibilities and personal histories. Or a mixture of both.

Rick ran his hand through his hair, hating himself for a toiling knot of several reasons.

He should be in his car, driving home in order to confront Lori. He should be kicking Shane’s teeth in, or helping Carl with his homework. But instead he is here, stressing over whether or not he should call up Daryl’s alcoholic, drug-dealing, thrice-arrested older brother for a reason he didn’t even want to think about treading. He sighed. Shifted on the bed. Counted the stains on the wall. Then he caved.

He stood. Walked over to his cellphone, studied it in his hand, and after ten drawbacks (or more), he managed to thumb in all seven numbers, bringing the phone up to his ear. It rang about four different times, and by the fifth, Rick was already well on the verge of punching himself across the face so that maybe he could knock himself out and forget any of this ever took place.

The garbling voice on the opposite line stopped him, however. Rick held his breath.

“Goddamnit, Jerry, is’ the middle of the dang night—”

“Um, hello,” Rick blurted, almost flinging himself at the half-open window. “I’m sorry—uh, is this Merle?”

For the enduring space of a few dozen seconds, a laugh came cackling through the phone’s static buzz. Drunk, and chapped in some places from the after-effects of way too many cigarettes. Rick held his hip in distress, feeling foolish.

“Dang right, and you ain’t no Jerry, are ya? Man, what you want?”

Rick cleared his throat, faced the wall, and straightened up his back. His heart rammed in his chest, his palms suddenly itching, more out of personal shame than anything.

“Uh. Is Daryl there, by chance? Daryl Dixon?”

Merle laughed again. But really, it sounded a little worrying this time around. For a moment, Rick thought maybe Merle’d choked on something. Or lost it. He stared at the grayish paint on the wall, scouring its surface for some coded ilk of advice.

“Man, you high? Ain’t no one in a thousand mile radius wanna talk to my baby brother.”

“Well,” Rick heard himself saying. He looked down and realized he’d already begun to pace the room. “I was just—”

“Ohh, I get it,” Merle chuckled. “So that’s why he’s been actin all hot and bothered lately like he got a worm hangin out his ass. Friendin’ around, is he?”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to see stars. “You know, uh, I think I got the wrong number. I’m sorry for the trouble—”

“Boy, quit your apologizing, I’m just fuckin with ya.” A snort and the sound of something crashing and rolling. A can? “Keep them panties on a moment, friend. He ain’t too hard to find.”

Rustling and static and a million other deafening sounds at once. Rick should’ve hung up. Should’ve left the whole bumbling charade somewhere far behind where it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later on. But he didn’t. He stayed on the line, frying his nerves down to the wire in hopes of figuring out what to say or do once he heard Daryl’s voice on the other end.

Then, of course, it happened.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

A silence, as if Daryl himself was still in the process of registering the situation at hand.

Rick’s breath hitched someplace in his lungs, his face heating up way too fast. Nothing in all existence could ever be more awkward than this.

“Rick?”

He could lie. He could snap the phone in half. He could slink his way out of this in some casual enough manner and still have enough dignity to hang up—

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” was the hushed response, and for a helpless clandestine moment in time, Rick hoped maybe Daryl would do him the ultimate favor of just cursing him out like before and ending the call.

Instead, Rick could hear the gentle wisp of Daryl’s breathing, the tight grip Daryl must’ve had on the phone in his hand, the faraway echo of what might have been the scrambled piecing of his thoughts. The static had toned down. Clearly, both of them were struggling quite stupidly over this, like two rocks thrown in a jar. Rick wracked his brain for something to say, an excuse or an angry accusation. Because he _should_ be angry and he _shouldn’t_ want this. But he found no looming ire to clutch on to, nor the inner vim to be rude or dismissive. Just the cold unyielding brick of some insatiable curiosity fixed to this unseemly man who had already told him once before to fuck right off.

As he should have.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said. The fourth time that day. “This is…I don’t know what this is.”

“You know Merle?” Daryl asked, ignoring him.

“No,” Rick said, pausing. “I mean, not in a friend kind of way.” And it wasn't really a lie.

Rick swallowed a sigh, the entire English language stuck in his throat. What were two grown men who hardly knew each other supposed to say through the phone, anyway? Rick sat on the bed, looking straight towards the floor.

“My wife,” Rick paused, correcting himself. “ _Lori._ She’s pregnant.”

Again, Daryl didn’t say anything. But he was still there. Listening. So Rick continued.

“Shane, he. He got her pregnant. She never told me. I didn’t know, and now she won’t talk to me.” He chuckled, a low and bitter sound. “Hell, she practically kicked me out of the house.”

“Why.”

“I don’t know,” Rick told him. “To think, she said.”

“Bullshit.”

Rick had to smear off a smile at that one. “Might as well.”

A few minutes passed. Soundless, with mostly the dulling whir of the line humming in his ear, but the fact that Daryl had willingly stayed on the line despite all that had happened between them spoke more genuinely than any forced conversations Rick could have had with him.

He took a breath and braved his mouth to move again.

“I’m at the corner of Greenvein,” Rick found himself saying. “Kind of. On Tracy. Ain’t far. I’ve got,” he looked around, a bottle of Jameson resting solemnly on the nightstand. “Whiskey. If it’s your thing.”

Immediately, Rick felt like the worst kind of idiot for even saying anything. Worse. Maybe even a _weird_ idiot. But then he heard something like Daryl standing up from a bed or a sofa, noisy springs and all, the faint swooshing of a jacket being put on.

“I’ve been there,” he said simply, though the subtle tremor in his voice betrayed him.

It was either a bad lie or Daryl felt just as weird as Rick did. Either way, Rick got the hint.

“I could go and pick you up if—”

“Nah. I’ve got a bike.”

Then the line dropped.

It took a minute for Rick to take the phone off his ear. And only a little less for him to spring up to his feet and jump into the shower.

In that moment, Lori felt like memory. Blurred. Far.

**oOo**

 


	6. Low enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so ready to just run with this until its finished tbh.

**oOo**

It didn’t take long before Rick began pacing all four corners of the room, wet-haired and anxious, glancing over every few seconds towards the mud-stained window.

Still, after nearly half an hour of waiting, nothing.

At last, he stopped. And in the middle of where he stood, began to weigh the situation a lot more closely in his mind.

Yes.

Daryl could have been bluffing all along.

And Rick couldn’t have blamed him if he’d tried.

It’d been...weird, calling his brother up like that. To have imposed himself yet again into Daryl’s life even after being told to back off.

And, well. Rick was a cop. Father of one, married by law (above all). And he should not be doing this.

Hell, he’d already crossed a line looking up those seven numbers when he had no business knowing them. One look at his screen then, and his hard-fought reputation at the station could have ribboned right before his eyes .

Worse, Rick _knew_ the whole thing’d just been wrong since the start _._

That red feeling he got around Daryl. Whenever Daryl wasn’t looking. Whenever he _was_ looking.

Daryl, who'd been minding his own business, who looked years younger, who was terse of word yet unassuming, honest, narrow-hipped, a _man_ —

Rick snapped a curse. Kicked hard at the desk, denting it. He snatched his keys, ready to drive himself out nowhere again. But froze; the moment he heard the nearing echo of a motorcycle engine revving just outside the door.

He took a step back. Enough to mind the window and watch as Daryl got off his bike from not too far down the opposite lot.

He turned away. Took a breath, thought it out.

On the phone, he hadn’t told Daryl the room number he’d been staying in. Hadn’t even told him how long he’d be there.

So, with tact, if Rick were fast, he could quite simply walk out and make for his car. Forget the whole fiasco ever happened, not think and just drive—

But then Daryl must’ve seen him.

Since, at a distance, he gave a sort of causal nod, an angled swing to his arm. Rick held a choke of air in his lungs, stared at the door-latch.

The first knock was more a gentle thud. The next was business. Three thumps, irrefutable.

“Rick?”

Panic. Rick looked around, hand going up to cup the back of his neck.

“Y-yeah. One moment.”

He spanned the room, grabbed the Jameson. Put it on the desk, label upfront, enough for it to be obvious. Because that’s why Daryl was even there in the first place. For the Jameson. Like something Shane would do—two friends would do.

Rick told himself this. In all the different ways he could. And flung the door open.

Daryl there. Hair longer than Rick last remembered it, awning low amid his eyes in tangled knots of filament. Webbed wet with rain, framing forth his jaw. Completely still. And just as quiet.

Immediately, Rick stepped himself aside, motioning inward with his hand.

“Was just uh.” He looked back, searching for nothing. “Cleaning up some of the mess.”

At first, Daryl just stood there, caught in the storm. Only after a moment did he slowly decide to step in. He planked himself right next to the wall, however, as if having been told to go there, eyes studying the room. Rick made sure not to lock the door, made sure to step back enough to allow at least two yards of open space between them.

Still, Daryl didn't say anything.

Rain began to dot against the window a lot more violently, dripping fat in patterns. It was just the two of them now. Alone. Like all those days ago.

“I’ve got shots this time,” Rick said, more to the air.

He went for the small cabinet above the kitchenette, opening it. He turned back, showing Daryl just that. Proper glass. Two of them.

Daryl gestured at the whiskey.

“Merle hates Jameson, says it’s shit.”

Rick paused. Could feel his blood-pressure dropping.

“Oh.”

Daryl moved forward then, as if to clarify. Caught himself, and stepped right back again. A subtle show of movement. But Rick saw it. That fragile veneer of self-reproach that had shaped itself on Daryl’s face. That often shaped itself on Daryl’s face. Like he hated the taste of his own voice whenever he used it.

Rick watched him. As he looked down, at the ground, shrugging back one shoulder.

“S'whatever.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Rick agreed, albeit stupidly.

He didn’t tell Daryl to sit. But rather sat himself. Pouring out both glasses.

“Ain’t seen a night like this in a while,” Rick said. “Whole moon like that, it’s something.”

“Yeah,” Daryl muttered, glancing only once at the window.

“Carl used to be scared of it when he was a little.”

“Why.”

Rick laughed. “Grew up and said it followed him.” He downed the first two shots like water. Then another. “That was six years ago though. Time just. Flies.”

Rick didn’t turn to look, but rather listened when Daryl’s footsteps finally began to come forward and away from the wall, edging more towards the empty seat beside him.

Then, like fate, Daryl was there. Sitting next to him, if only two feet away. This time, Rick turned to look at him. _Really_ look at him, and said:

“I’m sorry. For dragging you into this. For what I didn’t do. I should have gone back, made things clear to you. I was a coward,” Rick stopped himself, gulped down what was in his glass, and filled up the next. “I want you to know. It’s my fault. Ain’t yours to have—”

“Why don'cha jus kick his ass,” Daryl deadpanned, both ignoring him and taking the bottle by the neck and swilling it.

Rick paused a moment, twisting in his chair. “Who, you mean Shane?”

“Yeah, gettin yer wife knocked up like that.”

Rick looked at his lap. “I think about it all the time.”

“Then do it. Ain’t much done jus thinkin it.”

Rick smiled, sitting up. “You’re right. There isn’t.”

The room fell silent. In the good way. Daryl seemed to have relaxed where he sat, bottle wrapped in his hand. His breathing wore itself calm on his shoulders, an evened thrum midst the flat-splay of his chest, the drying half-waves of his hair. Rick tried not to stare.

“You know,” Rick said after a while, veering his gaze. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“M’bike’s flooded at the box,” Daryl mumbled in upshot. “Spark plug’s in the way. Wasn’t runnin at first.”

“That bad? I’ve got a friend who—”

“S’fine,” Daryl shot, sharp. “I’ve got it.”

“You fix things?”

“Some stuff.” Daryl paused. “Merle taught me.”

Rick nodded, toying with his glass.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

Rick sensed Daryl’s discomfort at the question, the subtle stirring in his chair.

“Blood’s blood,” Daryl told him. “He’s my brother.”

Rick lowered his eyes.

There, balanced on the wooden arm of the opposite seat, Daryl’s jacket sleeve had ridden up on his forearm, displaying the same onset of scars Rick had first seen on him the one time he’d shaken his hand at the station. This close, most looked like age-old cigarette marks. Deep, pockmarked. Others weren't scars at all, but recent. Purpled contusions. His fingers donned smaller flaws. Stray, faint, like cat scratches. Rick supposed those he might’ve gotten from his hunting. Everything else, dubious. At best.

Rick looked away, swirled the yellow liquid in his glass for a single counted minute. Amid it, he felt his arms flex. His face tighten, his jaw lock in place.

“That doesn’t make it fine,” Rick stated. “If he’s out hurting you like that.”

Daryl stiffened in his chair.

"Ain’t yer business."

“I saw them on you,” Rick admitted. “Those marks on your arm. The first time we talked—”

Immediately, Daryl stood up, slamming the bottle on the desk. Rick, on reflex, stood up with him.

“You best step off,” Daryl bit, a cold warning in the air. “Talkin like you know shit jus cuz yer some cop. Like you think you know—”

“I _don’t_ know,” Rick told him, offered him. “But I want to help—” Rick looked for the words, found the words. “Because I _care_.”

“Fuck you,” Daryl snarled, going for the door.

Without really thinking, Rick tailed after him.

“Daryl, wait. Daryl—”

Bad move. Must’ve been. Because Daryl spun back, facing Rick, a shattered look on his face. He swung at him. Hard. But Rick moved just in time. Rage, gripe, impulse. Rick couldn’t decide.

“What the hell d’ya want from me, huh?” Daryl hissed. “Want me ta suck yer dick, that it? Yer wife not good enough at it?”

Rick felt he couldn’t move then. Nor shape his mouth to talk. Not when he noticed that Daryl had something like water threatening the reddened rims of his eyes, the broken tremor in his voice that cruelly betrayed him.

Rick didn’t think when he did it.

Didn’t want to think when he did it. But nonetheless did it.

When he leant low just enough, his hand grasping out for Daryl’s arm, kissing him.

**oOo**

At first, Daryl pulled away.

But Rick looked him straight in the eye, brought him back in.

Daryl let him. Thereon, Daryl stayed.

Rick’s mind whorled, the immediate thrill of the moment mirrored in the crazed drumming of his pulse. A war-trill against his chest, the heated tremble in his hand as it slipped down from Daryl’s arm to grip gently at his hip, the other sliding to the back of his neck, reeling him in. No space between, same air. Just them. So close Rick could feel Daryl’s heartbeat ramming next to his.

Slow, Rick led them back towards the wall, pinning Daryl firm against him. The storm belted on the window and on the other side of the walls, the faulty light in the room giving the occasional flicker. And yet none of it mattered. Because Daryl’s lips tasted a lot like warm whiskey and his tongue, like some sugared err at revelation.

For a moment, Rick felt as though he might’ve been slipping. Off some cliff or off his wit, hallucinating. The way Daryl remained limp and willing and still so real against him, opening his mouth or exposing his neck whenever Rick urged for it, the nervous nipping of his lip.

And Rick _liked_ it. Seeing it, the way Daryl flushed over to the tips of his ears. Except now the guilt from before had hardly been present and Lori did not exist.

In seconds, Daryl’s jacket fell to the floor. His shirt upheaved, tousled between them. Rick felt like he’d go crazy. This near, he could feel Daryl’s hard-on twitch against his thigh, his own pressed like rock someplace along Daryl's stomach.

Encouraged, Rick lipped downward, taking Daryl by the moon of his neck, teething, sucking hard on the skin. A small noise escaped, a shivered half-whine that came out sounding a lot like ‘Rick’.

Either way, it drove Rick over the edge. His hip bucked forward once, _pressing_. That’s when Daryl stirred, a minute later, pulling back in search of air and looking up at Rick.

Might’ve said something, might’ve not, since Rick himself barely held coherency enough to fully register the moment Daryl had somehow swapped them in their places. With Rick on the wall and Daryl in front of him, his fingers going straight for Rick’s belt, undoing it.

Time careened, abstracted, and someplace amid the mired murk of Rick’s vision, Rick watched through heavy breaths as Daryl unzipped his fly and tugged open his jeans and, without much try at ceremony, slid down to land on his knees.

Rick stamped back against the wall, stilling. His chest heaved in front of him, his mouth parting the instant Daryl’s hand took him by the shaft, his lips enveloping over the tip of his cock. Gliding slow at first, until wet heat enwreathed him, taking him both whole and steady, for more than just halfway.

And there Daryl stayed, swallowing back in earnest, his head sweetly tilted. His lashes long, feathered soft against his cheeks.

Rick almost died.

In truth, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten head, much less, this good. And just the way Daryl fucked his mouth on him, quick, nimble, like he knew—or maybe like he _had_ to.

And though it felt unreal, looked unreal, it fucked with Rick’s conscience. That, perhaps, he'd somehow coerced this. Enough that he started to feel, like a re-blistered brand, the wedding ring that should’ve been on his finger.

“Daryl,” he gasped. “Daryl, stop—”

And Daryl did. Immediately.

He pulled back. Shooting up to his feet, his eyes blue and wide and almost terrified, looking straight at Rick.

But Rick had no words for him. Only the impossible weight of his own shame, reflected in his utter inability to even look Daryl in the eye.

Daryl’s breathing heightened by the second. Rick saw it on his chest. A cold tremble to his hand, the moment he reached up and wiped his mouth hard enough to leave it red.

It was a dead and glacial silence, once Daryl left.

No words. Just his jacket forgotten somewhere on the floor, the door left open.

Rick slid down on the wall, the deafening rev of Daryl’s bike roaring off.

**oOo**

He could admit the half-regret he’d felt, telling it to Rick the way he did.

Not that he didn’t want to tell Rick. The raw honest truth of it. That the baby Lori had in her was damn well his and that they’d fallen in love since the first day they’d met.

But Rick. Shane’d known him for years, since way before Lori had ever been relevant.

If anything, he owed him a better explanation. The truer facts, a man-to-man, both of them clear-headed.

He knew where Rick was, where he’d been staying nowadays.  

So Shane went.

That is, before some fuckhead on a motorcycle nearly steered him off the road, just inches away from hitting him head-on via all two and a half tons of his truck. On some god-given miracle, it ended in more of a graze. Side-to-side and not otherwise, had Shane not gyrated the wheel as fast as his arm had allowed him.

Must’ve been bad on some defect. Since the guy skidded to the left, lurching mid-air some feet away from the actual bike where it lay collapsed, frying out like crazy.

Shane watched at first, as the guy stood slowly (hunched and likely fucked up), but alive, his back towards Shane.

Tensed, Shane hissed a curse, switching on the safety lights and in turn lighting up the road. His hand rubbed the side of his skull, thigh shaking underneath him.

In truth, he was at least a hair’s breadth away from punching some teeth in. But he refrained. Took a count. And in a few, stepped out calmly.

“Hey man,” he called. “You okay?”

He took out his phone, approaching and ready to offer it. But froze midway.

The guy turned around, facing him directly, a loch of blood oozing from the left side of his face.

Shane almost laughed. Might have.

Because Rick, more than most, would know the name.

**oOo**


	7. Not like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please** make sure to heed the new warnings for this particular chapter.
> 
> otherwise, all thanks go to [bae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian) for being such marvelous beta❤

**oOo**

At first, Shane kept distance enough between them.

Distance that might have made it look much like two strangers meeting. Guardedly, and for the first time. Like if Shane had perhaps been inclined towards comity, the way he extended and gestured with his hand:

“You’re bleeding quite a bit there, buddy.”

Daryl did not reply.

Instead, he backed and stumbled rearward, messily. Shane watched him closely, his lip going into a jagged grin.

Hobbling like that, must have busted an ankle. Might’ve knotted a knee. Either way, Daryl was scraped open bad at both arms, torn flesh smeared over blackish with gravel, the blood-strings that welled from the side of his head dripping down from his jawline like paint.

“M’fine,” he muttered, shielding his face from the blinding beam of the headlights. “It’s nothin.”

But Shane did not believe that. Nor did he relent in his nearing, now that Daryl had made it to the rim of the byway, where the truck’s light lit them only partially.

“You ain’t fine,” Shane told him. He motioned at the obvious steam fogging out from the bike. And not once did he veer his gaze away from Daryl, who now struggled to properly stand. “And that thing won’t be up and running anytime soon. Not like that.”

Now Daryl had begun to stress. Least, it seemed that way to Shane. What with the way his breath became a weighted pattern that limned itself vivid on the ups and downs of his chest. He even lurched forward a few steps, as if he meant to go right into the boscage of the highway.

Shane pocketed his phone. Calm and slow. He towered easily over Daryl’s bent figure, looming over him just inches apart.

“You know, Rick’s down that way,” Shane noted, pointing left as if to clarify kindly. “Don’t reckon you paid him a visit. This late, ain’t an honest soul riding on this thruway.”

Again, Daryl did not answer him. Though he did manage to stand proper again, his eyes lifting to glare once at Shane, a mean-looking warning within them.

And that’s all that Shane needed.

Would ever need, the instant he happened to look down towards the general direction of Daryl’s neck, a purple bruise there, red and shaped and recent.

Shane saw crimson.

His nostrils flared, his own neck tightening right down to the tendon. He popped it to the side, cracking it loudly in the dark.

“That thing on your neck.” His tone was tense, as if it’d been stretched sick on a string. “Got a girl waiting?”

“Just back off man—”

“You know,” Shane clipped. “Rick’s taken a liking to you.” He took a final step forward, his breath an imminent threat which flitted at the loose strands of Daryl’s hair. “But see, Rick, no matter what that hillbilly head of yours is thinking, I know him best.” He shoved Daryl back by the shoulder, harsh enough to have erred his balance. “That is my best friend. That is the man I love. I love him like he’s my brother. And he ain’t no cock-licking _faggot_.”

But Daryl did not cower. And though he flinched once at the probable pain of his leg, he stood and measured up to Shane’s greater height, the distant overcast of the truck’s light hindering him dark into shadow.

Shane, however, remained unimpressed, his face skewed thin with a clenching disgust that only thickened and grew, undesisting.

“Don’t suppose you go down there every so often,” he fleered. “Fishing for scraps, fucking your pretty little mouth on his dick like some back-alley whore—”

Instantly, Daryl was on him like a bull.

He speared forward. Forcibly and with the blunt of his shoulder, taking the wind straight out of Shane’s stomach. They fell into a toil, bone-first and onto the cold asphalt of the road. An act of knee-jerk efficiency on Daryl’s behalf, as if maybe the guy had been brought up in some bar, enough that Shane had not calculized it at all: the way in which Daryl landed the first blow and quickly, twice-times.

Sharp knuckle struck crude against the bridge of Shane’s nose. Two jars of impact so measured that they ruptured instantly through muscle and cartilage. Blood seeped, pouring down fast from Shane’s nostrils and reddening his gums. It hurt. It _stung_. And for a short moment in time, Shane could have sworn he’d seen double.

But Daryl’s advantage was brisk, once Shane managed to re-palm his composure.

He caught Daryl’s fist square in his hand by the third coming swing, bending it backward till Daryl relented and collapsed to the side. There, where Shane swiftly subdued him and straddled him from either side, punching hard at his jaw; a blow which left Daryl quite weakened beneath him.

But not resigned.

He squirmed, kicked with his legs. But Shane outweighed him easily.

“You’re a wild little shit, aren’t you,” he hissed, his fingers furling vice-like around Daryl’s neck. “Your brother teach you that trick?” He laughed, breathless. “Redneck little hicks thinkin you could just skitter on out from the mud and ruin _lives_. Well, it ain’t gonna happen, friend. Not this time.”

Slowly, Shane toughened his hold, squeezing infold. Daryl thrashed weakly below him. And soon, Daryl’s eyes began to roll towards the back of his skull, his vision blotting.

But before he could black out or worse, Shane took his grip away and stood, leaving Daryl to choke and gag on the floor whilst he made for his truck, a pair of handcuffs in hand by the time he returned.

He reached down, grasping Daryl by the root of the hair.

And by the hair he led him, till he lay face-down and bent upon the passenger’s seat of the truck, the headlights now off but with the engine’s ignition rumbling, droaning over the black silence of the night.

**oOo**

Shane cuffed him.

Daryl writhed and jerked. Desperate, violent.

But not once did he say a word. Nor did he call out.

Succinct, Shane tore downward with both hands, wrenching Daryl’s jeans clean off to cockle at his knees.

Daryl tossed in renewed frenzy, chafing his wrists hard enough to rend open amid the steel of the handcuffs. But Shane’s weight kept him braced into place, ceded, now that Shane had reached to the leather clasp of his belt, undoing the chape through the buckle and swiftly.

Daryl must have heard it, must have _known_ it. Because now for the first time he made a stunted sort of sound, hoarse and broken. Something that, to Shane, sounded a lot like raw-red panic.

But Daryl did not plead, though he clawed like an animal at his ferric constraints. Nor did he beg against Shane, who now whisked at himself lazily.

Shane observed him, every naked inch of him. Up and down and thrice-times, until his cock stiffened and pulsed once inside the revolving heat of his palm. He veered in, spreading Daryl apart with one hand before steadying flush against him, his touch causing Daryl to spring up and freeze up, as if he’d been suddenly stunned.

“A bit familiar, is it,” Shane hissed, kneeing both of Daryl’s thighs far aside. “And look at you,” he leered. “All hushed up and _anxious_.”

He pressed forward. Slowly at best, now that Daryl had flagged against him. Shane watched him. How his hands balled uselessly into fists, how he tried so hard to hide his face over with the tangled knot-whorls of his hair, his breathing quick, rabbit-like, as if he knew full well what was coming.

 _Should_ know what was coming, now that Shane had managed to fuck into him by the first difficult inch, spreading him through and around the initial breadth of his cock-length.

A noise. Like pain. But Shane did not desist. He skewed farther in, snagging up Daryl’s shirt till the entire plain of his back went bared, all scars and flaws and ink. Daryl shivered from under, not at all clinching in nor resisting.

Shane sniggered, wiping dry blood from his nose.

“What, your brother teach you this too?” His tone was gruff, heavy with lust as he pistoned in with his hip, another inch whelmed from between them. He tensed. Feeling the coil of an imminent orgasm twisting like spark in his pelvis. “Or was it daddy,” he jeered. “While mommy cooked up skag in the kitchen and did nothing?”

Now, Daryl stirred. But only enough to have moved his head inward, as if helplessly attempting to bottle up the ells of his rage, or maybe his shame, burying his face, in turn, deep into the black cushion beneath him. Daryl’s fists went bone-white from behind him. His body rigid in place, if not for the vicious onrush of Shane’s incessant fucking.

And from that hour onward, Daryl made no kith of movement, nor did he worm athwart to fight it. And though he choked down desperately upon the occasional gasp or mortifying moan that at times slipped out and betrayed him, he did not rouse, nor did he buck against Shane’s merciless onfall, which now battered entrenched.

And when at last Shane sunk into him once and completely, feigning with the swannish curve of his spine some mock at affection, Daryl bit down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed, the instant Shane had reached down and pushed his head low in its place, once more picking up speed.

He pummeled in, each thrust reeling the truck from below them. Time slowed and then stretched, the haunting quiescence of the nearby wood marred apart midst the frenetic resound of Shane’s fucking. And not once did he fall into pause, not until he hastened amid the space of a few final seconds, bucking inward and harshly, filling Daryl with the slew of his spent.

It took him only a few moments:

For Shane to pull out in a heaving flux, looking below, there where his seed driveled thick from out of Daryl’s hole, a white sheen that now pooled itself lewdly towards the inner-soft of his thigh.

All went grim afore Shane’s vision.

Just as it all went crashing.

**oOo**

At first, Shane’s hand went to grasp up at his own mouth, tightening.

Blood gone cold, as if he’d only just realized the full scope of his actions.

His eyes bleared, thoughts reeling. And it wasn’t long until he turned his back, his hands cinched upon his hips before he started pacing.

Daryl himself lay unmoving, soundless. Though when Shane peered once from behind him, he saw that his eyes were blue and open. That his breathing had steadied, almost calm. Almost distant. As if he weren’t really there. Not truly.

Shane took a fitful breath, his heartbeat racing. And sure, the highway was empty and entirely had been, but the very real possibility that someone, _anyone_ , could have known or heard or _seen—_

Shane’s chest constricted, his fingertips freezing.

He cursed wildly through teeth, then scanned once at all plausible directions surrounding them. His bones felt stiff, his face rising pale with panic. And only after a long and drawn out moment of frantically re-assuaging himself did he at last find respite enough to stride forward. Bestial, and over to Daryl, leaning over on top of him with all of the seven oceans of his weight and snarling rancor.

“You say a word,” he grit, “a fucking _fraction_ of a whisper. I will kill you.”

He reached, tangling his fist into the back of Daryl’s hair, yanking rearward.

“And not just you,” he fleered. “See, I will find your crackhead brother, and I will blow his fucking head off. Understand? Ain’t no one gonna miss you.” He paused, winded. ”And Rick. I reckon we could both coincide, that you’ll be keeping your dirty little paws off, or I will get you. Right here, _like this_ , and I will make sure there ain’t nothin left of you.”

He stood then, unlatching the cuffs from Daryl’s wrists and pushing him towards the hedge of the byway.

Upon it, Shane did not linger.

He circled over and climbed onto the other side of his truck, re-enlivening the ignition and speeding off, disappearing fast into the opposite distance.

**oOo**

Wednesday struck.

Quiet and grey as all of the others.

Except now his mind felt to have suddenly gathered, unclouding his thoughts.

And it didn’t take him long, boot-laces half in hand, for Rick to decide on confronting Lori at last.

He uncarded his phone, punching in numbers. And on the very first ring, to his candid surprise, Lori had answered.

“Rick?”

Her voice was softer. As if perhaps she’d just woken.

“Lori…” was all Rick could mutter.

He stood, watching the wall with one hand clasped loose on his hip.

She heard to have sat up on the other end, the tousle of bed-cloth shuffling like static through the low buzz of the line.

“Rick,” she repeated. “What—”

“It’s his, isn’t it,” Rick said, quick and plain. “The baby.”

A long silence betook them. And in Rick’s head, he could see almost clearly Lori’s palm go up to rest at her mouth, the jump of her breathing swelling on the fragile jolt of her chest. For a moment, Rick wished he could kiss her there. Wished he could just go and hold her, could just kiss it all away—

“That...That _asshole_ ,” she rasped, catching air in her lungs through the fall of each word. “Heavens,” she whispered. Fainter this time, enough that Rick knew there were brimming tears in her eyes. “I...I don’t know, Rick. I don’t know—”

“You love him, don’t you.”

She didn’t deny it. Not for a long while. Still, the stifled sound of her weeping was enough of a genuine answer.

“I think I’ll…” Rick started, though for a second he could not actually speak, now that his chest had begun to feel too sore and too heavy. He blinked away whatever might have been there, clearing his throat gently. “I think I’ll stop by the house soon,” he managed. “Grab my things.”

“Rick, wait,” Lori wheezed. “Please—”

But Rick did not wait. He hung up, swiping the call dead.

**oOo**

 


End file.
